


Neighbors

by Janina



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1825, F/M, Fluff, Smut, regency england
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5771371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Set in 1825. The Starks live in Derbyshire, England and they have a new neighbor that doesn't allow visitors and doesn't seem to want to leave the house. Sansa takes it upon herself to invite him to a ball her family is having and finally meets the mysterious owner. He's scarred, gruff, and mean, but also lonely, and Sansa is determined to make him her friend whether he likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a mashup of Sandor from the show and the books in my head.  
> This is my first Sandor/Sansa story, please be kind!

**Derbyshire, England. 1825**

“A little notice, sister, that you’ve decided to stop,” Robb said after he knocked into Sansa from behind. 

Robb and Sansa had gone for a walk down to the pond together to go for a quick swim. The pond was nestled between the old Albus property and theirs, and they made good use of it. It was summer, and it was hot. And their family home seemed to be even hotter with all the bodies running to and fro getting ready for the ball that night. 

“What are you doing?” Robb asked as he stood beside her and looked up at the grand estate that loomed before them. It had been abandoned for so long and then, one day, someone had taken up residence in it. Every time a Stark passed by the house on their way to town or to the pond – because this estate was en route to so many other parts of their small town – they spied people doing work around the estate. Cleaning out the flowerbeds. Repairing the roof. Cleaning the windows. Beating a carpet on the steps. 

They’d go home, report what they saw, and wonder about the person who had taken it over for they had to see them. 

_“It’s a man,” Arya had said one afternoon, looking quite smug and proud of herself. She’d popped a strawberry in her mouth, ignoring how the juices dribbled down her chin. “And he’s_ huge _.” She ignored, too, that she had a full mouth and no one wanted to see it._

_“How do you mean huge?” Sansa asked. “Tall? Fat? Both?”_

_“He’s not fat. But he’s a giant and he looks…strong.”_

_“Everyone is a giant to you, shorty,” Robb said with a grin._

_“Stuff it,” Arya said. “I yelled out to him.”_

_“Oh, Arya, you didn’t,” Sansa sighed._

_Arya rolled her at her sister. “Course I did. Why not? We’ve been wondering about him for weeks!”_

_“Because a lady doesn’t shout out to a gentleman they do not know.”_

_“How else am I supposed to know him if I don’t call out to him and meet him?”_

_Robb laughed and Sansa rolled her eyes in exasperation._

_“But in any case, he didn’t even turn around. Probably a bounder.”_

_Sansa scolded her on her language while Robb laughed._

Now, Sansa stared up at the house and contemplated the man that had been in the house now for almost two months and had yet to show himself. When her parents had attempted to welcome him to town with freshly baked scones, they’d been turned away. 

“I’m pondering the man inside that house,” Sansa said as she craned her neck back. The house had five stories.

“He obviously doesn’t want to be bothered,” Robb said with a shrug. 

“Does he have a wife? Children? Is he alone? If he’s alone then isn’t he lonely?”

Robb sighed. “Sansa, let it go.”

But they both knew that wouldn’t happen. 

In fact, when she and Robb returned home, Sansa put up her hair as was proper, grabbed one of the extra invitations her mother had left over for the ball, and asked her younger brother Rickon if he wanted to go for a walk with her to the old Albus estate. Rickon had shrugged and nodded and whistled for his dog – husky named Shaggydog – and off they’d gone. 

Sansa ruffled Rickon’s auburn curls that was so like hers and Robb’s – though hers was straight as a pin. “Do you know the man that lives there, Sansa?” Rickon asked. “Arya says he’s a giant.”

“I don’t know him,” Sansa told her five-year-old brother, “But I mean to meet him and invite him to our ball tonight.”

“But Mama and Papa said the giant wouldn’t even see them. How are you going to?”

Sansa shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I will figure it out.”

She had been resolved when they’d left home, but now as they came up to the steps that led to the house of the “giant”, some of her resolve began to wane. Her confidence slipped a bit. What sort of man turned away her parents? What sort of man shut himself up in this big house? Was he in fact alone? Or did he have some long-suffering wife and a passel of children?

The door flung open and out ran a dog, a basset hound, barking up a storm and running down the steps towards Sansa and Rickon. Shaggydog ran up the stairs, charging the hound and the hound changed course and ran back up the stairs. 

Sansa and Rickon sprang into action, knowing exactly where this was going, and ran up the stairs after Shaggydog. The maid that had opened the door stood there, frozen and wide-eyed. She was nearly knocked over as the dogs barreled past her and into the house. 

“Shaggydog! Shaggydog, come!” Rickon yelled, his little legs pumping hard. Sansa ran after him, one arm outstretched and in her other hand she clutched the invitation. Her only thoughts were to prevent Rickon from getting into the middle of a dog fight, and to get Shaggydog out of the house post haste. The man that had turned away the two kindest people on the planet would probably not take kindly to having his house taken over by a husky and two strangers. 

The dogs tore across the rather large foyer and knocked into the table before tearing across the wood floors to where a set of doors were open on the other end. The doors shut by a mysterious hand with a loud bang and the dogs stopped, stunned. They all stopped. 

And then the voice came. A loud, deep, booming man’s voice threaded with annoyance. “ _What is all the bloody racket about?_ ”

Rickon looked over his shoulder at Sansa, his blue eyes wide and fearful. The hound whimpered and ran away from Shaggydog while Shaggydog loped over to Rickon. 

Sansa waved for Rickon to come closer and he did, nestling into her side. Sansa looked up and saw a man – and he was a giant, at least from this angle – come down the stairs that were to the left of them. She couldn’t really see his face in the shadows, but she could vaguely make out shoulder-length black hair. She gulped. “I am sorry, sir,” she said, hating how her voice trembled. She was dimly aware of the invitation in her hand now being crumpled. 

“I am no sir,” he snapped. He had a bit of a Scottish brogue, she noted. 

“Lord--?”

“I am not a lord either, girl.”

 _Then who are you?_ she thought in a burst of irritation. 

His feet hit the bottom of the steps and Sansa turned to face him, pulling Rickon closer to her. “I am Lady Sansa Stark. I live next door. And this is my brother Lord Rickon.”

“A little lady and a little lord,” he said snidely as he came towards them. “How nice.”

Sansa had never been quite described as little considering she was rather tall for a girl. Plus, she was eighteen. Hardly a girl any longer. She straightened her gait then to show him just how tall she was, and the light finally hit his face as he drew closer. 

Sansa managed to hide the gasp that came at the sight of the scarring on the left side of his face with a cough instead. Rickon though, did not bother to hide his reaction. “What happened to your face?!”

“Rickon,” Sansa muttered. “That’s not kind.”

“No, but it’s honest,” the man said and stopped before them. He stared at her for a long while and Sansa forced herself to stare right back without flinching. She refused to look at the scars on his face, how they were puckered and red and took up most of the side of his face and a bit of his lips. 

He had grey eyes, she noted, and they were boring into her as though he sought to uncover her thoughts. Then his gaze flickered down to Rickon. “I was burned, boy,” he told Rickon. 

“I’m sorry,” Rickon said. “That sounds awful.”

The man laughed. “Yes, it was at that.” He looked back at Sansa, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing in my house and with that dog?”

“It’s Shaggydog,” Rickon said, and pushed away from Sansa. Apparently, he was no longer afraid. “He’s my dog. It was an accident. The door opened and your dog came running out and then Shaggydog went running after—”

“I think I can piece it together,” the man said gruffly. “What do you want?” he asked Sansa. 

“As I said I am Lady Sansa from next door, Mister…?”

His eyes narrowed, and with the left side that meant his eye nearly shut completely. “Clegane. Sandor Clegane.”

Sansa curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet—”

“No it’s not,” Sandor said with a laugh. “I’ll ask again: what do you want?”

Sansa’s irritation sparked, but she was determined to be nice. “I wish to invite you to the ball my family is having tonight,” she said as she thrust forward the definitely crumpled invitation. 

He didn’t take it. “I don’t think so,” he said and turned around. He began to walk away. “You can see yourself out.”

That did it. Sansa stomped her foot and demanded, “Are you always so insufferably _rude_?” 

He stopped and for a quick moment Sansa felt fear. He was bigger than her, bigger than anyone she knew, and taller too. Arya had the right of it – he was also quite strong looking. He could crush her skull with one hand probably. 

When he turned, he glared at her. “Do you think anyone will want to see this face at your pretty ball, Lady Sansa?”

 _Probably not_ , she thought, but she wasn’t about to say that to him. “Do you mean to lock yourself up in this big house and never leave it?”

“What concern is that of yours if I do?” he asked challengingly. 

“Are you alone here?”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“Then I think that’s just sad.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “You know nothing, girl. Experience has taught me that no one wants to see my ugly mug. It’s better this way.”

Now Sansa just felt sorry for him. He was most likely not aware of the sadness she could hear in his tone. Tender-hearted, that’s what Robb always said she was. The idea of anyone excluding themselves from others because he had burns that yes, were jarring, but were nothing compared to his rather harsh attitude, was sad to her. How lonely an existence it must be. 

“Mr. Clegane, please, I beg you to reconsider,” she said. 

“Beg me, do you?” he rasped and then laughed. “Good day to you, Lady Sansa.”

He strode off, back up the stairs without another word. His dog ran up with him. Rickon tugged on the sleeve of her dress. “Let’s go, Sansa.”

Sansa sighed, nodded, and pulled Rickon with her. Shaggydog followed. As they passed by the table in the middle of the foyer though, Sansa put the invitation on it. 

She didn’t expect him to show up at the ball, but she hoped he didn’t expect that she would just go away and never come back. She was going to come back, all right, for he had just become her mission.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everyone! :)

“I met him,” Sansa declared once she and Rickon had returned home and she’d found Robb sitting outside on the veranda with a book. 

He looked up at her and frowned. “Where’d you and Rickon go?”

“Did you hear what I said? I met him.”

“Him?”

Sansa heaved a sigh, praying for patience. “Our neighbor?”

Robb shut his book and put it down on the table before him. He sat up straight as he looked up at her. “And?”

Sansa pulled one of the chairs under the table closer to her brother and sat down. “He’s tall and big and – not fat – just large. He’s like a giant. And he has…well, he has scars. Burns on the left side of his face. I was terrified at first when I saw him but…but Robb he doesn’t want anyone to see him that’s why he wouldn’t see Mother and Father.”

“How did you and Rickon get to see him then?”

“Well, that was due to Shaggydog. And Mr. Clegane’s dog.”

“He has a name!”

“He does. Mr. Sandor Clegane. He’s rather brutish.”

Robb frowned. “Sansa, I don’t like the idea of you going over there with only Rickon for company. If you wanted to go over there you should have asked me.”

“Please, it was fine,” Sansa said dismissively. “You know if he had even tried to do anything Shaggydog would have attacked him.”

“Yes, by licking him to death.”

“I was perfectly safe.”

“You tell me he’s a giant and brutish, and then you tell me you were safe?”

“Yes, I was safe,” Sansa said decisively. “I brought him an invitation to the ball tonight.”

Robb’s eyes went wide. “Do you think he’ll come?”

“No. Not on account of his face.”

“Sansa!”

“I didn’t say it, he did!” 

Robb held up a hand. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

So she did. Robb made a face and sat back when she was done. “He sounds boorish. I hope he doesn’t come tonight either.”

“He’s lonely!”

“He should learn better manners then. If he’s got an ugly face then wouldn’t it behoove him to be kinder to people?”

“Not if they’ve been terrible to him. He said it himself that no one wanted to look at him.” She gasped and put her hand over her heart. 

“What? What is it?” Robb demanded, alarmed. 

“He’s the creature from Frankenstein!”

Robb rolled his eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Sansa.”

“Think about it – he’s not…pretty to look upon, and he’s been shunned, obviously, and desperately lonely—”

“Oh, bother. Here it comes,” Robb grumbled. 

“Here what comes?” 

“Do you remember when Nan’s bakery first opened?”

Sansa lifted her chin and sniffed. “Yes.”

“She couldn’t bake, Sansa. Her scones were like rocks. Her cookies tasted like dust.”

“Honestly, Robb, I think you’re being a little hard—”

“She almost had to shut it down she was so terrible,” Robb interrupted. “She couldn’t make her rent and you made me go in there and buy boxes and boxes of her scones and cookies. That’s how I know how terrible they were.”

“Yes, but it helped her buy some time to find someone that could cook. Remember, I helped her place the ad?”

“Not even Shaggydog would eat those scones. I threw one of her cookies in the fire. It wouldn’t burn, Sansa!”

She shot him a look. “What is your point?”

“Do you also remember that footmen you convinced Father he had to hire because he needed to earn wages to board a ship to America to fetch his poor abandoned sister?”

“Robb—”

“He stole our silver.”

“He needed it more than we did.”

“Did he? Did you forget that we saw him in London when we were there last? He was a pickpocket who hailed from Whitechapel.”

“May I ask what your point is?” Sansa asked with a glare. 

“Do not make this man your project. Leave him be, Sansa. He sounds horrible.”

“Can you imagine what it must be like to have one side of your face all burnt up and to hide yourself away because in your experience people haven’t wanted to look at you. When I think of how he might have seen me flinch and then Rickon asking him what happened to his face—”

“Sansa. If he was kind to you I might feel differently, but he was not. Leave it alone. He doesn’t need your meddling. Promise me you’ll leave him alone.”

She sighed and looked away.

“ _Sansa_.”

“Fine,” she lied. “I will leave him alone.”

Robb grabbed his book and stood up. “Thank you.”

Sansa waited until her brother was out of earshot before she muttered, “I’ll leave it alone until tomorrow when I go see him.”

xxxxxxxxx

The next afternoon, Sansa went into town and filled a basket with some of Nan’s best scones and assorted pastries. The bakers she’d hired really were excellent, and sometimes they even let Nan into the kitchen. It turned out that Nan’s talents really lay in advertisement and making the bakery a place for the townspeople to have a treat and tea. 

Afterwards, she took the basket to Mr. Clegane’s and asked the butler at the door if she could please see Mr. Clegane. 

“Allow me to ask Mr. Clegane if he is taking visitors,” the kind old man said. But then he shut the door in her face and she thought perhaps he wasn’t so kind after all. 

He returned a minute later and informed her that no, Mr. Clegane was not taking visitors. 

“Did you tell him who it was?” she asked. “You didn’t even take my name.”

“I told him it was a young woman.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sansa said as politely as she could. “He knows me.”

“He asked if you had red hair. I said yes. He said, and I quote, ‘Tell the little hoyden to bugger off’.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Hoyden? I am no hoyden. He’s thinking of my sister, now she is a hoyden.”

The butler just stared at her as though waiting for her to just go. Sansa heaved an annoyed sigh and thrust the basket of goodies forward. “Fine then. Will you leave this for him? Tell him the hoyden thought he might like some treats from our very own Nan’s Bakery. Since he—” and for the next bit she raised her voice, “ _does not plan to leave his house he does not know what he is missing!_ ” 

“I will let him know. Thank you.” He snatched the basket, and then shut the door in her face. 

“Well then. I see that his servants are just as ornery as he is,” Sansa muttered as she began to make her way down the stairs. “Try to do something nice for someone and look what you get. Someone calling you a hoyden—” She turned and looked up at the house and shouted, “WHEN YOU ARE NOT A HOYDEN AT ALL!”

“I beg to differ, lass.”

Sansa jumped and whipped around, wobbling on her feet on the steps. Sandor was at the bottom and he rushed up and gripped her waist to steady her. She looked at him, right into his grey eyes and he sucked in a deep breath. 

“You’re prettier than I thought,” he said gruffly. His hands tightened around her waist. “All right now?”

She nodded and he released her. “Thank you.” She smoothed her skirts. “I thought you weren’t going to see me.”

“I wasn’t until you started your shouting.”

“I wasn’t—”

He arched a brow. 

She sighed. “All right, yes, I was.”

“I saw some basket…?”

“Nan’s Bakery. I got you an assortment of pastries. Do you like pastries?”

In the full light of the day, Sansa was now able to get a better look at him. Yes, the burns were still red and puckered and obvious, but perhaps because she’d had some time to ponder them they didn’t seem as horrible as they had when she’d first seen him. His black hair, she noted, was combed in such a way that it hid some of them. He wasn’t classically handsome, no, but there was a ruggedness she could see on the good side of his face that was striking in its own way. 

“I do,” he said. “Why’d you go through the trouble to get pastries for an ugly dog like me?”

“Why would you call yourself such a thing?” she asked exasperatedly. 

He barked out a laugh. “Because it’s what I am, little bird.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Little bird?”

“Yes, you’re a little bird chirpin’ about with your courtesies and your shouting.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to welcome you to the town.”

“You did that already. Yesterday. Left me an invitation to that ball of yours, too. Even after I said I wouldn’t go.”

“I left it in case you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t.”

“I noticed.”

He laughed again. “You’re a mighty stubborn one, aren’t you?”

Sansa smoothed some hair from her temple. “So my brother tells me.”

“The one you were with yesterday?”

“No, although he would probably say the same, but I meant Robb. My older brother.”

“Another lord?”

“Yes.”

“How nice.”

She frowned. “Does it bother you that my father is titled?”

“Not at all.”

She frowned, not believing him. “Mr. Clegane—”

“Sandor. Drop that Mister shit. Are you active with the church or something? Am I your special charity case?”

“It made me sad when you said it was better people didn’t look on you. That’s not any kind of life where you hide away from others.”

“Have you gotten a good hard look at my face, Lady Sansa? Don’t tell me you’re one of those birds who like to pretend my scarring isn’t abhorrent. I saw your face yesterday, I know it is.” He was angry now. 

“It shocked me—”

“Bullshit!”

“ _Must_ you curse so much?” Sansa exclaimed. 

“Yes, it’s what I _fucking_ do!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so awful to people they would want to talk to you, but you bark and shout and are so rude—”

“That’s what dogs do, they bark!” Sandor shouted. 

“Then maybe I should tell you to heel and tap you on the nose with the newspaper like my father does to Shaggydog to get him to listen!” Sansa shouted back. 

He stared at her, chest heaving, and she stared back, annoyed. Then he threw his head back and laughed and Sansa thought he surely must be mad. 

“You sure you’re not a hoyden?” he asked. 

“You’re infuriating.”

He smirked. “So are you.” He turned and jogged down the stairs and then turned around and looked up at her. “You coming or what? Those pastries aren’t going to eat themselves.”

Sansa gaped at him and then started down the stairs after him. Yes, it was official. Sandor Clegane was indeed crazy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone! :) 
> 
> I can't promise I will post every single day, but I will update as often as I can. I'm really enjoying writing this!

Sansa followed Sandor around to the back of his property and wondered about this man that didn’t seem to like her very much and yet had invited her to stay. 

“Won’t your family have something to say about you being here without a chaperone?” Sandor asked as he stopped and waited for her to catch up to him. 

“Yes, probably,” she replied. “That’s why they do not know.”

He looked slightly impressed. “The little bird escaped her cage to spend time with old scarred curmudgeon and her family doesn’t know?”

“Hmm, where shall I begin…?”

“With?”

“Well, first, I am not a caged bird,” she said. “I am free to come and go as I please. Second, you are scarred and a curmudgeon, but old?”

“I’m older than you, lass.”

“It isn’t polite to ask someone their age.”

“But you want to don’t you?”

She looked up at him, her lips quirking into a smile. “I do.”

He grinned, and Sansa decided that when he was quite pleasant to look upon when he did so. “I am thirty. How old are you?”

She frowned slightly. “Nineteen,” she said softly. 

Silence fell as Sandor led her up to the veranda at the back of his house where he had a table and some chairs set up. “Sit, little bird, I’ll get us some tea and those pastries.”

Sansa sat, but then as she looked out into his expansive backyard and the fresh flower beds that appeared to have some plants poking through the soil, she grew curious as to what had been planted and went to investigate.

She had bent over to examine a bud when she heard Sandor approach. “Do you ever do what you’re told, Lady Sansa?”

She stood and peered out the rows and rows of freshly tilled soil and sprouting buds. “I wanted to see the plants you’ve planted. It appears you’ve been busy. Did you do all this yourself or hire a gardener to help?”

“I did it all myself. Well, and with help too. If you’re going to own a home, you should know how to do some things like working your own land. It’s how you make your home yours, see? You learn about it, you feel it in your hands. It becomes yours and you become part of it.”

It was Sansa’s turn to be impressed. She couldn’t rightly say that she did any such thing, but she rather liked the idea of digging her hands in the dirt. It was so…so everything she had been taught not to do. At first it was just because she was a lady and was raised as such. But then when Arya came along it was Arya that wanted to do all the things and Sansa felt she couldn’t. She was the one that had to be the perfect lady while Arya had all the fire and rebellious tendencies. 

“That sounds rather…lovely,” she said finally. 

He looked a bit stunned. “Didn’t think that’d be your response.”

“Why? Because I’m such a lady?”

“Just so.”

She shrugged. “I am a lady, but that doesn’t mean I can’t or don’t think for myself.”

“Tell me, little bird, how is it that a pretty little spitfire like you isn’t married yet?”

She frowned. “I was engaged once.”

“What happened?”

“He ran off with my now former friend to Gretna Green. Got themselves hitched days before our wedding.”

“Christ. I’m sorry, little bird.”

She looked up at him solemnly. “I’m not. My friend, she wrote me after they’d settled in London. She wrote to tell me how sorry she was, and how awful he was to her. He hit her. He whored and gambled. And then he was shot after cheating at cards in one of those gaming hells.”

“I’m glad you didn’t marry him then,” Sandor said softly. 

“And you?”

“Do you even have to ask?” he snapped and stormed away from her. He looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s insulting that you would even ask. As though anyone would want to marry me.”

Sansa followed after him. “I wasn’t trying to be insulting, Mister—”

He stopped abruptly and turned on her. “What did I tell you about that Mister shit?”

She clenched her fists at her sides. “ _Fine_. I didn’t ask you to insult you, _Sandor_. I asked you because how do I know when you got burned? I don’t. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To learn more about you—”

“I was ten-years-old,” he said. He still looked angry. “My brother caught me playing with one of his toys and he shoved my face into the brazier.”

Sansa pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, Sandor, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you getting all misty-eyed about?” he demanded. 

“Because that’s an awful thing to happen to a little boy.”

That seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails. “Aye.”

“What happened after?”

“I lived in fear of my brother until I could leave. I’m certain he was responsible for my father’s death some years after he did this to me. My mother died of a broken heart after my father passed on and, finally, Gregor died after being thrown from a horse. My only regret was that I couldn’t have been the one to do him in.”

The vehemence in his tone told Sansa he meant that, too. And from the way he looked at her, he was also testing her to see if he’d scared her. He hadn’t. She couldn’t imagine feeling very charitable to someone who had shoved her face in a fire and then possibly murdered her father. How awful it must have been to live in fear of your own brother. 

“I’m sorry—”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he snapped. “I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me.”

“No, of course not. You’re doing well feeling sorry for yourself all on your own.”

He glared at her, his jaw clenching. “You go too far, girl.”

“Perhaps. But if you’re going to push me then I am going to push you back. It’s human to empathize with another’s plight. It’s how people connect with each other. My brother tells me I am tender-hearted. I do not think that a terrible thing.”

Sandor didn’t seem to know what to do with her, but she could see his mind working. He looked annoyed with her. He looked like he wanted to tell her to go to the devil, too. But he said nothing. Did nothing. Just stood and stared at her. 

Behind him, on the veranda, Sansa saw the basket of pastries and a tray of tea was being placed on the table by a couple of his maids. Before he could send her off in a huff and banish her, she breezed past him and said, “The tea and pastries have arrived.”

Sandor caught a whiff of lavender as Sansa passed by him and some part of him wanted to reach out and grab her. Stop her. Tell her to go. The other part wanted her to stay. 

He wasn’t used to wanting people to stay. 

He wasn’t used to anyone _wanting_ to stay. 

The girl had gall. A lot of it. She spoke her mind, which Sandor wasn’t used to from the upper crust ladies like herself. Most of them were puppets that repeated the lines they’d been taught again and again. And though she could certainly chirp her courtesies, she was also a fiery little thing that didn’t cower from him. 

He wasn’t used to someone not cowering from him. 

People were generally afraid of him. If his face didn’t do it, then his temper did. He was coarse and rude and he made no excuses for himself. He didn’t feel he had to. He was used to being thought of as less than human because of his face. How could one not be angry after a lifetime of being treated like a monster? 

And now this slip of a girl with her pretty red hair and big blue eyes, her pale skin and rosebud mouth who smiled so prettily at him was determined to be his friend. 

He didn’t know what to make of her. And he didn’t know how to be a friend to anyone. 

“Are you coming, Sandor?” she called out to him. “You did say these pastries weren’t going to eat themselves.”

His lips quirked. He wanted to smile, but he also didn’t want to make this easy on her. He was still wary of her intentions after all. He wasn’t convinced that when something else drew her attention away from him she wouldn’t forget about him altogether. 

He was used to being forgotten about. 

He turned and strode up to the veranda. She was nibbling on a lemon cake when he approached. She hummed to herself with a small smile on her lips and he had the sudden urge to lick the lemon right off her lips. 

_No_ , he scolded himself. _She’s not staying and she doesn’t want you making advances on her. You’ll sicken her and she’ll fly off sooner._

Wasn’t that what he wanted though? For the little bird to fly off and leave him in peace?

She dug into the basket and extracted what looked like a sweet cake. “Try this. It’s divine.”

He took it and bit into the sweet confection. It melted on his tongue and he grunted his approval. She beamed up at him and he really wished she wouldn’t. She was so fucking pretty when she smiled. 

“Lemon cakes,” she said, “are my favorite. What’s yours?”

“I like them all, I’ve no favorites,” he told her. He grinned. “Lemon cakes suit you. Sweet, with just enough tart.”

She smiled again. “I like that.” She put her lemon cake down on the tray. “How would you like your tea? Wait. Let me guess. No sugar and no cream. Am I right?”

“Yes,” he rasped. 

She smiled. “See? I’m learning.”

Sandor sat down and let her serve him tea, and then she poured her own and they sipped their tea and ate their pastry in silence. Oddly enough though, it was a comfortable silence and Sandor couldn’t remember a time when he had sat in silence with someone like this. 

It was nice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone! :)

Sansa didn’t come by for two days. Not that Sandor noted it or cared that she hadn’t. He didn’t. 

(Except that he did). 

When she did finally come by again, she had a pretty brown horse with braids and ribbons in its mane. She was perched on it as though she belonged there and she smiled down at him as he came down the stairs to greet her. 

“Did you see me coming?” she asked. 

“Aye,” he said, not adding that he’d been looking out his window often to see if he could find her coming up to his house. He gestured to her horse. “She’s as dolled up as you, little bird. What’s her name?”

Sansa grinned. “Lady.”

Sandor chuckled. “Fitting.”

“Isn’t it just?”

He looked her over quizzically. “Are you riding side-saddle?”

She looked at him sheepishly. “No. I borrowed Robb’s breeches. I have them on under my dress.”

“You are full of surprises, little bird.”

She leaned forward to stroke Lady’s neck. “Do you ride?”

“I do,” Sandor said with a nod. “My horse is in the stables down yonder. Name’s Stranger. He’s a black stallion I got for a good price. No one else would have him.”

“Let me guess – he’s temperamental?”

Sandor laughed. “What are you trying to say, little bird?”

She smiled cheekily. “I can’t imagine. Would you like to go for a ride with me? I was going to take Lady down to the pond. Have you been?”

“Not yet.”

“Would you like to come with us?”

He smiled. “Say my name first, Sansa.”

She looked at him as if she couldn’t fathom why he would ask such a thing. “Sandor.”

He liked how his name sounded coming from her mouth. He nodded and called (in Sansa’s opinion barked) for a footmen to fetch him Stranger. While they waited, Sandor helped Sansa down from Lady and he noted how light she was, and yet how sturdy. The little bird was made of steel though she looked so very fragile. 

He held onto her longer than needed once he’d set her down on his feet. She didn’t seem to notice. Or she was just too polite (or shy) to say something. 

It’d been a while since he’d been with a woman, and he would have to be blind not to be attracted to Sansa. Yet he knew better than to say or anything untoward. He knew the reasons for his attraction to Sansa outside of the fact that she was beautiful. 

1\. He was lonely (though he’d never admit that to her. Sometimes not even to himself.)  
2\. He hadn’t fucked a woman in a very long time or even been in the presence of a woman in a very long time.  
3\. Sansa paid him attention. 

It was the last bit that made him feel like the pathetic dog that he was. The last thing she needed was him sniffing at her skirts just because she was determined to be his friend. And who knew for how long that would last. What kind of sad excuse for a man was he that any bit of attention from a woman had him panting after her? 

Just that morning he’d been thinking that perhaps he would take a trip into London. Get a room, visit a brothel, and just get his urges out of his system so he didn’t do anything stupid like think the little bird had any interest in him beyond friendship. He knew she didn’t, but he was so starved for a soft body under his that he might do something stupid to send Sansa running. 

She’d be gone soon enough; he might as well enjoy her company while he had it. 

“The Westerlings are having a ball tomorrow evening,” Sansa said as a footmen brought Stranger over. Her eyes widened a bit at the sight of him and Sandor chuckled. 

“He’s a beast, isn’t he?” he asked. 

“He is!” Sansa exclaimed and made her way over. Stranger nickered and shook his head from side to side. She stopped abruptly and looked at Sandor with a wry grin. “No, I can’t imagine why he is so perfectly suited to you.”

Sandor grinned at her. “Need some help getting up back on that horse, little bird?”

“No, I—oh!” Sandor lifted her up anyway, effortlessly and helped her into the saddle. She smiled down at him. “Thank you, though I could have managed.”

He grunted at her and then went to Stranger and climbed up. “Lead the way, little bird.”

She grinned and hit Lady with her heels, sending her off. She heard Sandor behind her and she smiled with joy as she directed Lady down to the pond. She always did love a good ride. 

When they finally reached the pond, she allowed Sandor to help her down again and when he did, he kept his hands on her hips longer than needed (again) and frowned. “Do you always ride like that?”

She frowned. “Like what?”

“Hell bent for leather.”

She rolled her eyes and moved away from him to hook Lady’s bridle on the willow tree beside them. “I wasn’t going that fast,” Sandor. 

“Fast enough. You’d break your neck if you were thrown off riding like that.”

“You worried about me?” she teased. 

“Yes.”

She hadn’t expected him to say that. She looked over at him and solemn look on his face told her he was serious. “I’ve been riding a long time, Sandor. I promise I’m not reckless. Lady and I are accustomed to one another. Sometimes, it’s like her and I are one beast.”

“As it should be. Just have a care, Sansa.”

“I will, Sandor.” 

While he hooked up Stranger’s bridle to a branch, Sansa once again broached the subject of the ball the Westerlings were having and how she had been helping her friend Jeyne pick out a dress for it. Sandor didn’t say anything in reply, but looked at her as though he was wondering why she was telling him all this. 

“She said she’d extend an invitation to you if you’d like to come,” she said. 

“No, thank you, little bird.”

Sansa sighed. “Look, if you went to one ball and hated it—”

“I most certainly would hate it. I said no.” He looked out toward the water. “Been thinking about going to London for a couple days anyway.”

She blinked. “Why?”

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “A man has needs, Sansa.”

She blinked. “You mean you…I mean you want to…” She couldn’t even say it. She felt her face going warm. 

“Visit a whore or two? Yes.”

She could not fathom why he would tell her such a thing. “That’s a really indelicate thing to bring up to a lady, Sandor,” she said and walked away from him. “Why would you tell me – oh. I get it. You think that’ll scare me off.”

He remained silent. 

“Or you just want to shock me.” Still he said nothing. She looked over her shoulder at him and found him staring out at the pond and not even looking at her. “Do you…go often?” she asked softly, almost timidly. 

“When the mood strikes.”

Does it strike often? was what she wanted to ask. She wouldn’t of course; she shouldn’t have even asked if he went often. That was none of her business. She wondered if he’d ever touched a woman like that who wasn’t a whore. Visiting a brothel couldn’t fulfill the need for affection, it was supposed to be…well, base. About fulfilling a base, primal need and nothing more. 

“I can practically hear you thinking from here, little bird.”

“Do you know how to dance?” 

He heaved a sigh. “No.”

“Did you ever learn?”

“No.”

“I could teach you.”

“No.”

Now Sansa sighed. 

“Give up?” he asked. 

She turned and glared at him. “No. Because you want me to. You’re going to be my friend, Sandor, whether you like it or not.”

He laughed. “Yes, my lady.”

She opened her mouth to no doubt yell at him, but Sandor held up a hand to stop her. “Listen, lass. I’m not an easy man to get on with. Mainly because I haven’t tried to get on with anyone and no one has tried with me either. If being your friend means I have to go to balls and dance and do all the things the young bucks around here do, then you put the notion of us being friends out of your head and stop now. You’ll have to accept me as I am if you want to be my friend. Can you do that?”

“But if you would just try—”

“Sansa.”

“I’m not trying to change you! I’m trying to help you!”

“Then what you’re saying is that I am a charity case,” he growled. “No thank you, Lady Sansa. I don’t need your fuckin’ pity.” He started towards Stranger to no doubt leave. 

“Sandor, wait,” Sansa said. _Gods, but he infuriates me_ , she thought. She knew the good people of Derbyshire wouldn’t judge him on his scars. His demeanor to be sure, but not solely his scars. If only he’d give them a chance. 

He stopped and looked at her, clearly annoyed. 

This was going to take some swallowing of pride. She heaved a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry. You’re right.” _No, you’re not._ “Robb tells me I can be like a dog with a bone. I suppose I am.”

He stormed up to her, causing her to rear back a bit and glowered at her. “Do you think you can do it?”

“Do—do what?”

“Be my friend without making me go to your balls and havin’ to meet people. Can you stop badgering me about it? If that’s what all this is contingent on then you can take yourself home and not come back.”

Sansa looked down, feeling ashamed. Pushing him to do what he (yet) wasn’t comfortable with wasn’t going to help anything. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“Does that mean you’ll stop?”

“Yes.”

“Say it, say you’ll stop.”

“I’ll stop.”

He straightened, nodded curtly and then went to Stranger anyway and fed him some oats. 

Sansa didn’t know what to say or do now. She watched him, her mind reeling for something to say. Finally, she walked up to him. “Could I try feeding him?” she asked softly. 

Sandor looked down at her, nodded, and held out the oats in his hand. “Be patient with him,” Sandor instructed softly. 

Sansa nodded and held out her hand and just when she thought Stranger was going to walk away from her, he ate the oats from her hand. Sansa laughed happily and smiled up at Sandor. 

He smiled gently down at her and Sansa was relieved. The storm had passed.


	5. Chapter 5

**One month later**

“I can sing, dance, play the piano, and do needlework,” Sansa declared, sitting before a canvas she was attempting to paint the landscape of Sandor’s backyard on. “But I cannot paint or draw to save my life.”

Sandor placed a hand on her shoulder from behind her and she felt him lean in close, his cheek brushing hers. He had been doing this lately, touching her at random, and getting in close to her. His closeness and his touches didn’t bother her, it was rather her reaction to them that was concerning. Her heart would race, her breath would hitch, and her skin would hum. 

Sandor, she’d learned, didn’t just do things on a whim. There was always a reason behind his actions, and so she had started to wonder what the reasons for touching her were. Was it just to express the fact that he felt close to her? That he trusted her to not abandon him? That he trusted her enough to consider her his friend now? 

Or was it something more? 

She told herself to stop it, to not let herself wonder about deeper feelings. She was being a silly romantic girl. She just wished she could stop her body from reacting to him in such a way. 

“It’s not so bad,” he says in the same voice he used when he tried to teach her how to plant some herbs and she hadn’t dug deep enough and then neglected to give them water. 

She turned her head to look at him better and he turned his eyes to her and smirked. “It’s bloody awful, little bird. Looks like blobs of green and brown.”

Sansa erupted into giggles and attempts to poke him with her paintbrush, but he darts away before she can make contact. She drops the paint brush onto the easel and stands. “Oh well. I did try. A painter I am not meant to be.”

“With the list of accomplishments you already have, I do not think you need to worry.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said and sat down at the table on the veranda. She reached for a scone and nibbled on it while Sandor seated himself across from her. He smiled at her, head cocking to the side. “You seem distracted today,” he said. 

“Am I?” she asked, stalling. 

He waved a hand at her. “Out with it.”

She sighed, put the scone back down, and sat back. “There is a ball tonight.”

“Isn’t there always?” he muttered. 

“I’ve reason to believe that my mother intends to play matchmaker with me tonight.”

“With who?” he asked, eyes narrowed. 

“Lord Theon Greyjoy.”

“Seems fitting. A lord for a lady. Where did he come from? I’ve not heard that name before.”

She wanted to point out that why would he when sent his servants into town when he needed something and never strayed far from his property. The furthest he went was rambling in the woods with her or down to the pond, again, with her. 

“He and his family are new to town. He made friends with Robb right quick and the two are practically inseparable. My mother has taken a liking to his parents and apparently has got it in her head that he and I would make a great match.”

“What is it about him that makes him a great match for you outside of the fact that he’s a bloody lord?”

“I’m not rightly sure. My brother recommends him. That is all my mother really needs.”

“Ah, is he the prodigal son?”

“A bit. I had thought he would take a wife before I would have to consider marriage, but apparently not.”

Sandor eyed her curiously. “You’re a romantic if there ever was one, little bird. Don’t you want to get married?”

“I do…”

“Hmmm, that doesn’t sound convincing.”

“I wish to be swept off my feet,” she admitted. “I want a man that will take my breath away. I don’t wish to settle for less than that, and I can’t imagine this Lord Theon will be any different from the other men I’ve met.”

“I took your breath away with my scars the first time we met,” he told her. “You should be careful what you wish for.”

“Don’t say such things; you know I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what? Tell the truth? Do you really believe in all that stuff and nonsense about being swept off your feet and your breath being taken away?”

She frowned, feeling perhaps she shouldn’t admit to it now. “I’d like to,” she said softly. “I want a marriage the same as my parents have. I still catch them kissing in alcoves and murmuring to each other when they think no one is around. He dotes on her and she dotes on him. It’s not terrible to want something like that is it?”

He said nothing. Sansa furrowed her brow. “Sandor?”

“It’s bloody ridiculous is what it is,” he said harshly and stood up. 

“What is?”

“Love. Maybe it’s worked out for your parents, but it doesn’t work out like that for many. People marry these days for land and title and hope that love will follow it. Rarely does it.”

“And how do you know so much when you refuse to partake in society at all?”

He shot her a glare. “I might not partake in it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on in it.”

“Why are you so upset?” she demanded. 

“I think it best you take yourself off and get ready to meet your future intended,” he snapped and stormed off into the house. 

She had half a mind to go after him and to tell him to stop being such an insufferable sod. She wasn’t sure why it upset him so much what her dreams and fantasies were all about. Sometimes she thought he liked to be contrary just for the sake of it. 

Well, fine then. If he wanted to pitch a moody she’d let him. She’d done nothing wrong except share with him what she longed for. It wasn’t as if she was imposing what she wanted onto him. 

She got up, and stormed to the front where Lady was and had a footmen help her climb atop her horse. She galloped off without looking back. 

xxxxxxxxxx

Lord Theon Greyjoy was a disappointment for Sansa. Not that she had had high hopes to begin with, but some small part of her had wished for it to be like the silly little romances she liked to consume – that the man she’s not excited to meet is actually quite dashing and they fall in love at first sight. 

Truthfully, Sansa didn’t much appreciate the way he looked at her. His eyes had gone wide and then he’d smirked at her in such a way that made her skin crawl. 

They’d danced, and Sansa felt as though insects were crawling on her skin when he touched her. He asked her as they danced if she’d ever been kissed. She said no. He asked if she’d like to be. 

She said no again. 

When he returned her back to her family afterwards Sansa happened to catch sight of the window behind her parents and she started at what, or rather who, she saw peering in the window from the outside.

Sandor!

Then she blinked and it was like he’d never been there. She excused herself quickly and made her way through the crush, the foyer, and then outside. She ran down the stairs, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste and ran around the house to where she’d seen him. 

He wasn’t there. 

She sighed, deflated, and wondered if it was just because she couldn’t stop thinking about him that she’d ended up imagining him there, peering through the window like some thief in the night. 

That wasn’t Sandor’s way. 

She could almost hear him in her head telling her to get herself together. _Why are you wasting your time thinking about an old dog like me?_ he’d say to her. 

Because he was her friend and she liked spending time with him. She liked when she could make him smile despite himself. She liked how he’d come out of his house to greet her when she arrived, and she liked when he’d put his hand on her arm when they spoke. 

She just didn’t like that it felt like he was a secret. She wanted to bring him out into the open and stop making excuses for the times she went to visit him. But, when it came to Sandor, nothing came very easy. 

Besides she was supposed to be cross with him still for that afternoon, she wasn’t supposed to be missing him. 

She walked back to the ball, put a smile on her face, and sought out her friends to keep her distracted and occupied so that she, hopefully, wouldn’t have to dance with Theon again. 

xxxxxxx

Two days later when Sansa arrived at Sandor’s, he did not greet her as he usually did. He must be upset with her too, though she still wasn’t sure what _she’d_ done wrong. 

His butler answered the door when she knocked and before she can even ask if Sandor is home, he told her no, he is not. 

“He’s gone to London for a few days, my lady,” the butler told her.

Sansa winced as though she’d been pinched. She knew what that meant. He’d gone whoring. To “scratch that itch” again. 

And despite the fact that it should not bother her, what he did with his own time, it did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone! :)

Sandor sat hunched forward on a settee in the parlor of the room he’d taken for a few days in London. He held a finger of brandy in his hand. He’d already downed a few before this one hoping to take the edge off. So far, it wasn’t working. At this point he might as well just drink directly from the bottle. 

He’d come to London to take care of some business regarding his newly acquired estate, and figured while he was here he might as well visit a bawdy house - one of those high-end ones he usually went to. He was well enough off to afford it, plus the risk of disease was less in a place like that. Even if he did use a cundum for the extra protection. 

He’d come to London in a bit of a snit to begin with. Listening to Sansa about how she wanted some gentleman sweep her off her feet and have her breath taken away by him had angered him. It had dredged up his self-loathing – something that had lessened considerably in her presence. Her continued visitations made him feel as though he was worth something at least to someone. Now that she’d given up the business of trying to get him to go to balls and the like, they’d forged a friendship that he’d never had before. 

It was no wonder he was all twisted up inside with all these feelings he had for her. He knew where they came from and it still didn’t help. She was a beautiful woman that paid him attention – that had _sought his friendship_ – how could he not feel something for her? How could he not want to take her in his arms? Kiss her? Make love to her? 

It made him feel pathetic and desperate. So he talked himself out of it. Convinced himself that touching her at random was a show of friendship and nothing more. He was able to stop himself from burying his face in her neck, in her hair, from cupping her breast in his hand, from wrapping her in close and just allowing himself to feel her against him… 

Her talking about wanting to be swept off her feet just reminded him that he would never be that man for her. What bloody hope did he have of sweeping her off her feet? Of making her breathless and all that romantic shite she wanted? He was too big and too ugly. He was not what someone like Lady Sansa Stark would want. Oh, and if he told her he was having these very unwanted feelings? She would let him down easily in her sweet Sansa way. Or she’d fucking laugh at him. Worse, she might be so disgusted by it she’d stop coming around. 

He couldn’t lose her, even if his worst imaginings of what her reaction would be upon the discovery of his feelings meant their entire friendship was fragile and held no real weight and meaning to her. He’d rather have a small part of her than no part at all, and the awareness of how he’d take her – even superficially – made him feel even worse about himself. 

He was a dog all right. A hungry dog begging for scraps. 

Then he’d gone and made things worse by showing up at that blasted ball and not going inside, no, but by peering in the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of her in her finery and see if she was swept off her feet by that sod her mother wanted to set her up with. He’d stood outside for well over an hour. 

He’d watched her with people she assumed was her family – the young gentleman she talked most with had near the same coloring as her. Then he’d watched some young pup he thought must be Lord Theon be introduced to her. She’d smiled at him, but hadn’t looked at him as though she’d been made breathless by him. Then she’d gone on to dance with him but she hadn’t looked particularly happy. He made a habit of studying his little bird after all; he knew when she was displeased – and not just because she made it clear to him when she was. But then he convinced himself that it was just because he didn’t want her to like him that he’d read their exchange that way. 

Feeling now like a kicked dog, he’d made plans to leave on the morrow for London and made sure his butler knew to tell Sansa when she came by where he was. She’d know what it meant when she heard he was in London and he wanted to unsettle her. He liked the idea of disturbing her “delicate sensibilities” even if it was jealousy he wanted her to feel. He had no hope of that so let it make her think of him a bit distastefully. 

Apparently he wanted to punish her as well as himself. Make her angry with him for whoring. Make her think less of him than she probably already did. He was a kicked dog and he might as well just be put down at this rate. 

It had not gone well. 

He couldn’t get Sansa off his mind. She was there with him when he walked into the bawdy house. She was there with him when he chose the woman he’d fuck – a redhead – and she was there when the redhead had looked at him and did a double take. She’d even made a face of disgust when he’d chosen her that she’d coved up quickly enough, but Sandor had seen it all the same. And, Sansa was there with him when they’d gone into the whore’s private chambers and she had gone to her knees to suck him off. 

He’d had to close his eyes and imagine it was his little bird before him to even get hard. He’d started to deflate already when she’d stood and attempted to talk dirty to him. Sansa wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t tell him to fuck her. She wouldn’t tell him to stick his cock in her and make her scream. 

He’d told her to shut her mouth and attempted to finger her, thinking if he just closed his eyes he could pretend it was Sansa again, Sansa he was touching so intimately. 

But then the whore had started moaning and panting – a bit too much in his opinion – and Sandor found he just couldn’t do it. 

He’d paid the whore just the same and left. He felt angry and despondent. He missed Sansa; he wanted Sansa. He couldn’t have Sansa. 

So now here he was, feeling sorry for himself and wondering if his little bird was well and truly done with him after he’d sent her away in a fit of anger and self-loathing, _and_ now that she probably knew exactly what his plan had been coming to London. He didn’t attend balls, didn’t go into town. Sansa liked to socialize. She liked balls and dancing and visiting with her friends. 

But she was also beautiful and perfect. 

At least in bustling city like London he could blend in a bit. Too bad it was stuffed with the one of the things he hated the most: people. 

He downed his brandy and made his way to bed. He was leaving in the morning and hoped like hell his little bird hadn’t given up on him. 

xxxxxx 

“Arya, must you chew so loud? You sound like a cow!” Sansa exclaimed as she glared at her sister from the other side of the library.

Arya looked over her shoulder from the sofa at Sansa, who sat tucked into the window seat quite a distance away, and glared at her. “You haven’t been out of the house in a few days,” Arya told her. “I think you should go.” 

“Will it make you chew quietly?” Sansa grumbled. 

“No, but you won’t be able to hear me from outside, will you? What is the matter with you anyway? You’ve been beastly for the past three days.” 

Sansa looked away from her sister and out the window. She had been beastly, Arya was right. Not that she’d let her sister know that. 

It’d been eight days since she’d seen Sandor. She knew he had to be home by now. The last time he’d gone to London he’d only been gone three days. By her calculations he would have been home now for four days. 

Not that she was keeping track or anything. 

She wasn’t even mad at him for how he’d told her to go home the day they talked about how she wanted to be swept off her feet by a man. It was the fact that he’d gone to London that she couldn’t seem to shake. It angered her to think of him with a whore. Or several of them. What did he do for three days with them? Just visit one whore house after another? Did he have one in particular he liked to visit? She imagined him in a room on a bed with silken sheets and whores draping themselves over him, feeding him grapes and plying him wine. All of them naked, all of them catering to his every wish. 

She made a face and clenched her jaw. 

“Sansa.” 

Sansa sighed and looked at her sister as if to say _“What do you want now?”_

Arya glared at her. “ _Go away_.” 

Sansa climbed off the window seat in a huff and stormed from the library, slamming the door behind her. Fine, if Arya wanted her to go away then she’d go away. She kept going right out of the house, _past_ the house, and right onto the path to Sandor’s. 

It didn’t take her long to get there, not with the way her anger gave her plenty of extra energy. She was practically running. When his house came into view her steps faltered. What would she say to him? What could she say? What good would it do to tell him she didn’t like that he’d gone to London to visit whores? _Why did she even care?_

_This is madness_ , she thought. She turned around to go back home when she heard Sandor calling her name. She stopped and turned and found him walking briskly toward her. She fisted her hands at her sides and lifted her chin. 

“Little bird—” 

“I think you’re disgusting,” she blurted out. 

Sandor’s eyes widened and he reared back as though she’d struck him. 

“You judge me by what I want when you go to London for the _sole purpose_ of spending three days knee-deep in whores. It’s vile, and it won’t give you what you want and what you need. It’s not true and real affection you get from them. Maybe you don’t realize that’s what you want and I know you certainly wouldn’t admit to needing that, but you do.” She nodded her head once. “Right then. Good day, Sandor.” 

And she started to march off again only he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him until she knocked into him. She put her hands on his arms to steady herself and looked up at him. 

He bent his head and peered at her closely. “Sansa, are you –? 

“Am I what?” she asked and told herself to take a step backwards away from him. It was improper to be like this, in his arms practically. Yet she couldn’t seem to make herself move. It was his eyes, they’d trapped her with their intensity. She couldn’t look away. 

“Forget it,” he muttered. He stepped away and Sansa felt bereft at the loss of contact. “Go on then,” he said and stared to leave. 

“Do you – do you want to go down to the pond?” she asked. She’d missed him; she didn’t want to go just yet even if she was still rather annoyed with him. 

He stopped and faced her. “Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cundum was a real thing. The early condom! Made of animal intestines.


	7. Chapter 7

Sandor watched Sansa as they walked down to the pond together. She had that crease between her brows that told him she was perplexed, and she wound her arms about herself. When Sandor cleared his throat, she darted a glance at him. “Little bird, you look troubled.”

“I…I suppose I am.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Because I’m not sure why I want to spend time with you even though you absolutely irritate me to no end.”

He barked out a laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve often felt the same way in your company.”

She shot him a look, but didn’t appear very offended. They walked the rest of the way to the pond in silence and once there Sandor waited for Sansa to speak again. She was working up to more and he wondered if he should sit before she started. God knew she’d nearly knocked him over earlier. 

When she’d told him he disgusted her, he’d naturally thought she’d meant his face and he’d felt as though she’d punched him squarely in the gut. Then she’d gone on about him visiting whores and he’d realized that was what she was upset about. It was just as he’d wanted. 

Yet there was something else in her reaction that he’d hoped for but didn’t dare think would happen: jealousy. Was it wishful thinking that caused him to see it? God, he hoped not. When she’d started to leave all he’d been thinking was that he had missed his little bird so much and didn’t want her to go. 

He’d wanted to ask her if she was jealous. Had started to, but was then so afraid to hear that no, she wasn’t, that he’d stopped himself. And then he’d been aware of how she looked up at him with those sky blue eyes and how her body was pressed against his and he’d wanted so much to kiss her. 

If he had and she’d rejected him he wouldn’t have been able to bear it. So he’d stepped away from her and let her go, angry with himself for nearly giving himself away and ruining everything. 

But then she’d asked him if he wanted to go for a walk to the pond and he couldn’t say no. How could he? She wanted to spend time with him. He was hard pressed to deny her that. It was the least he could do considering he’d denied her invitations to join her in town, attend balls, and pretty much anything that involved showing his face to others. 

Besides, again, he’d missed her. 

Now she stood with her hands on her hips staring out at the water as though she was angry with it. Or herself for asking him to come here with her. 

“Do you have a favorite you see?” she finally asked. She still wouldn’t look at him. 

“What?” he’d asked rudely. Sansa could not possibly be asking about his whoring. It couldn’t be. 

“Is there a favorite you see? Or several favorites?” she asked. 

“Bloody hell, little bird, no. Why are you asking me this?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. She didn’t look angry anymore, but she still had that crease between her brows. “I want to understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. I already told you. A man has needs.”

Finally she looked at him. “Yes, you said that, but do you go to the same place all the time? See the same wh0—woman? Or women?”

Sandor ambled over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Sansa.”

“Are you in love with one of them?” she asked in a small voice. 

“Bloody hell, girl, no,” he growled and turned her to face him. “Why are you asking about all this?”

“I just want to understand you better.”

“By asking about the whores I see?”

She started to wring her hands together. “You went only a month ago, perhaps less, and I don’t know very much about what happens in the bedchamber and I just wonder what…makes a man have so many needs.”

“Sansa, look at me.”

She did and he looked at her searchingly. She was upset. It was plain as day written on her beautiful face and he felt like hell for hoping it was because she was jealous and perhaps confused about her feelings. He didn’t think a woman like Sansa had occasion to be jealous of much. He wagered she had men eating right out of her delicate little hands. What’s more, he knew she most likely didn’t realize the effect she could have on a man. If he was anything to go by at least. He didn’t feel like much of a man at the moment. He rather felt like the dog he called himself. A dog begging for scraps again with its tail between its legs. 

He reached out and attempted to smooth the crease between her brows with his thumb. “Little bird,” he murmured. “Why are you so upset?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding so very forlorn about it.

She grabbed his hand when he started to pull it away and gripped it. She stared down at it, looking perplexed again. 

Sandor shuffled closer. When she made no move away from him, he shuffled even closer. She gripped his hand tighter. 

“Sansa,” he whispered. 

Slowly, she looked up at him. First her eyes raised, then her chin. He saw curiosity. Wonder. A question. 

Sandor leaned in and her eyes fluttered shut. He kept his eyes open when he brushed his lips with her own, wanting to gauge her reaction. He wasn’t prepared for the jolt of awareness that coursed through him at feeling her lips against his. It was as though a bolt of lightning had struck him. 

He felt her sway closer to him and he took the chance and pressed his lips firmly against hers. He hadn’t kissed much, it was true, but he supposed some things were just instinct. She stumbled forward a bit into him and he let go of her hand and caught her about the waist with both hands and gripped her hard. She emitted a moan and, emboldened, Sandor parted his mouth and touched his tongue to the seam of her lips. She gasped and her mouth parted and Sandor used the advantage to deepen the kiss. This time, he shut his eyes. Her mouth opened under his and he plundered her mouth hungrily. Her hands went to his arms and she held onto him tightly. 

She tore her mouth away from his and his eyes popped open. He looked down at her. She was wide-eyed, her chest heaving. She swallowed hard. 

“Are you all right, little bird?” he asked softly. 

“I don’t know,” she croaked. “I’ve never…”

“You never kissed a man before?”

She shook her head. 

Sandor wanted to shout to the heavens – Sansa Stark’s first kiss had been by him! An ugly old dog! Not one of those dandy’s who paid her court, but _him_. 

She took her hands off him and stepped away. She looked about ready to bolt. 

“Little bird, don’t fly off now,” he said gently. 

“I acted wanton. I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to—”

“You didn’t,” he assured her quickly. He wanted to pull her back into him, but was afraid to scare her off. “Look at me, Sansa.” Slowly she looked up at him. Unable to resist, Sandor moved closer to her and cupped the side of her face with his hand. “You did nothing wrong, little bird.”

She didn’t look convinced. “A lady isn’t supposed to kiss a man she isn’t engaged to.”

“Surely you don’t think that all ladies abide by that.”

She frowned. “Well, no…”

“You’ll not have your reputation sullied today, girl.”

“Perhaps we should head back,” she said with a frown. 

“Afraid you’ll want to kiss again?” he teased. She blushed a deep crimson and his smile fell with the realization that _yes_ , Sansa wanted to kiss him again! 

He had to be dreaming. This could not be real. Not any of it. How was it possible that he’d managed to kiss his little bird and now he knew she wanted to do it again! 

He wouldn’t take another kiss though. She was already a bit skittish about this one. She needed to think on this a bit, come to terms with it. 

They walked back in silence and when they got to where she would depart from him, Sandor reached out and gripped her hand. “Sansa,” he rasped. 

“Yes?” she asked, looking at him with brows furrowed. 

“You’ll not disappear on me?”

Her expression softened and she shook her head. “No, Sandor. I will not disappear on you.”

He let her hand go. “All right then. Off with you.”

She smiled crookedly and then hurried off. Sandor watched until she was completely out of sight.


	8. Chapter 8

It rained for the next two days and Sansa considered that both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because this gave her time to think about kissing Sandor and what it meant and how she felt. A curse because she couldn’t run off to see him and get another kiss. She was aware that both desires were conflicting.

The part of her that had been brought up to be a proper young lady who didn’t go around getting kisses from gentlemen was at war with the part of her that felt as though a whole new world had opened up to her with that kiss. And the part that felt as though that kiss had opened up something inside of her wanted more. She wanted to discover what else there was, and feel that heady sensation of Sandor’s lips upon hers once again.

She wondered if it was something Sandor had thought about doing before. Or if it was just a spur of the moment impulse. She had the horrible thought that perhaps he thought instead of going to London he could just use her. She dismissed that immediately, though in all honesty it did linger in the back of her mind.

The desire to find some excuse to flee to Sandor’s came for the fifth time in an hour during the second day and she feared she’d become one of those wanton women her mother had warned her about. Perhaps this rainstorm was a sign. She needed to control herself and reign herself in before she lost all sense of propriety and threw herself at Sandor. What could come of such a thing? Marriage? No, he had no desire for that, and besides, she wasn’t in love with him.

 **But you don’t want him to have anyone else,** the little voice in her head said. **Not even a whore.**

 _A whore could fulfill one need, but not them all,_ she thought.

**Look at you acting like you know what a man like Sandor needs.**

_I do. He needs to be cared for. To be shown that he is not the sum of his scars. That he is more than that._

**And you want to be the one to show him that, don’t you?**

Sansa touched her fingers to her lips as she gazed out at the dreary landscape. _Yes._

But what exactly did that mean?

She simply didn’t know. And so she found something to occupy her time and her thoughts because surely all this dwelling on Sandor and that kiss was not healthy. Yet she couldn’t stop the turn of her mind as it drifted to Sandor and that kiss again and again until Sansa thought she might surely go mad.

On the third day when it stopped and the ground was still wet, Sansa slipped out of the house carefully made her way down the path, dodging puddles and pockets of mud. Her shoes were going to be sodden by the time she got to Sandor’s and she thought perhaps she should have taken an extra pair of shoes with her.

When his house came into view, she stopped and stared at it. Her heart thudded hard in her chest and she felt nervous about seeing Sandor for the first time since…well, ever. She didn’t like this feeling. She put a hand on her belly as it felt as though butterflies were swarming about inside.

She wondered if he was watching to see if she’d come, if he would come out and greet as he’d done two days prior thereby taking the decision out of her hands on whether or not to go to him.

What did she expect to happen if she did? Did she expect more kisses? Yes. Did she want them? Yes. Right then. So she just wanted to be able to act like a wanton woman. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat in them as they reddened.

What was happening to her? How was it that no man before had this effect on her? Was it just that her visits to him were a bit forbidden because a maiden did not visit a bachelor alone? Or was it something else? Like how he kept her on her toes and how she found him to be attractive? Sure, he was horribly scarred, but she barely noticed them anymore and they didn't bother her. His attitude was another thing, and yet she was still drawn to him. Felt as though there was some cord between them that linked them.

A bit gruff and sometimes he spoke too bluntly, but it gave Sansa freedom to speak back thusly. If there was anyone she could ask about whores with, it was Sandor. He didn’t care about what the conduct of proper ladies were. He actually balked at such things. Honestly, she had no real room for argument on what proper ladies did considering how she snuck out to see him again and again.

How she let him kiss her…

And how she wanted a kiss again…

With a nod, Sansa started forward with a determined stride though her heart raced and her breath started to grow shallow from nerves.

She made her way up the stairs and walked up to the door. She rapped on it and his butler opened it. “May I see Mr. Clegane, please?” she asked.

“He is in his study, my lady. If you’ll wait but a moment I will let him know you are here.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said politely and wasn’t at all surprised when the door shut in her face. Wringing her hands together, Sansa began to pace and when the butler finally returned to take her to see Sandor, Sansa wondered if she could go through with this. She’d never been so nervous in her life!

"Lady Sansa, sir," the butler said by way of announcement once they'd reached the study.

Sandor looked up from where he was hunched over some papers at his desk and grunted. "Hello, my Lady."

Some of Sansa's nervousness began to dissipate replaced instead by a crushing let down. He didn't seem very happy to see her. It was not what she'd expected when she saw him again after that kiss, and after he'd all but begged her to come back.

"The rain was horrid, was it not?" she asked, letting him know that was the reason she hadn't come back the past two days.

"Not for my plants," he said and looked back down at his papers.

"Am I interrupting you?" she asked. She still stood by the door, her hands clasped tightly together.

"You're fine, little bird. Why don't you have a seat? As soon as I finish these ledgers you can tell me what it is you want."

Sansa's brow furrowed. She didn't like that, what he said. He made it sound as if she was, in fact, intruding upon his time, as though she bothered him with her _wants_ , as though they didn't just _spend time_ together. Now felt a fool. She'd been so excited and so nervous to see him again and he acted as though she was just another thing he had to see to that afternoon.

"I - I am sorry to have bothered you at this time," she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling because she felt very near tears. "Perhaps I will return another time." She fled the room, not wanting to give into her tears in front of him and practically ran down the hall.

"Sansa!" she heard him shout. "Sansa!"

She didn't want to stop, but politeness dictate that she did. She stopped and turned. "Yes, sir?"

"Don't bloody 'sir' me," he rasped as he walked up to her. He studied her, looking over her face as though searching for something. "You're upset," he said after a while.

"No, I'm not."

"Don't lie to me, girl. What is it? What's wrong?"

He couldn't figure it out? Was he that thick-headed? Now she was angry. Angry that she'd looked forward to seeing him for the past two days and then when she'd finally arrived, he had acted as though she was just a duty he had to get through, and now he was upset with her for treating her thus?

"You're an impossible man, do you know that? Here I was actually looking forward to seeing you after what happened between us and you act as though I'm just another bother like those ledgers you're poring over. Well, fine! I'll just take myself and leave you to it and when you--"

She was cut off by Sandor grabbing her and pulling her against him. "Did you mean that?" he rasped. "You were looking forward to seeing me?"

"Yes, I--"

"You want another kiss?" he whispered and nuzzled her cheek.

"Not after how you just treated me like I was some kind of bother--"

"You're not you daft girl, I didn't think--"

"I am not daft, Sandor Clegane, I am--"

"--you'd want to see me again. Want to kiss me again. Thought you regretted it."

Sansa stared at him and then shook her head. "I did act like a wanton and I do regret that--"

"I don't," he rasped and then kissed her.

Oh, goodness, did he kiss her. Sansa clung to him, her hands on the lapels of his jacket tightening as she held on for dear life. She felt as though she was being swept away on a sea of passion and while it thrilled her, it scared her too.

She tore her mouth from his and buried her face in his chest, breathing heavily.

"All right, little bird?" he asked softly and ran his hand up and down her back.

"I didn't know..."

"Know what?"

"That kissing could be like that," she admitted softly.

"Oh, my sweet little bird," he said with a little chuckle. "I've much to teach you."


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa didn’t expect for Sandor to lift her in his arms and carry her back to his study. She looped her arms around him as he carried her and smiled, feeling a bit dazed. 

When they got to the study he sat down on a sofa and settled her across his lap. She blushed at the indecency of it, but at this point was it any more scandalous than everything else she’d done? Well. Maybe a little. 

It was her nerves that started her rambling. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?” she asked him. She kept going even when he opened his mouth to answer. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I could not because of the rain. It wasn’t until it cleared that I could make it out and even now it is a bit muddy and wet out there—”

He cut her off with a kiss, this one causing her to jump a bit when she felt his tongue against her bottom lip. “Relax, little bird. I’m teaching you a different kind of kiss. This one involves our tongues.”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?” she asked, horrified. 

He tossed his head back and barked out a laugh. “Because, little bird, it feels good.”

She looked at him skeptically.

“Let me kiss you,” he directed her, “and when I put my tongue to your lips, I want you to open your mouth just a little bit for me. All right?”

She bit her lip and nodded and when he kissed her she melted into him, her hands on his shoulders. They were so broad and his chest against hers felt so hard and strong. He smelled like bergamot and something that was just uniquely him. When she felt his tongue lick at her lips she opened her mouth tentatively just as he’d told her to do. His tongue touched hers briefly and then it was gone. Curious, she reached her tongue out to find his and when she touched it, he moaned and pressed her tighter against him. He kissed her deeper, his tongue and hers playing a game of hide and seek. 

“My quick little learner,” he rasped when he broke the kiss. “Not so bad is it?”

She shook her head, words escaping her. 

He leaned in again and whispered against her lips, “Again.” Before she could even say a word, he kissed her again. The contrast of his smooth lip and burned one sent shivers up her spine. Sansa’s fingers dug into his shoulders as she learned the rhythm of his kisses and how to kiss him back. She felt him tug her hair back and she gasped when he trailed kisses along her jaw and then down her neck. When his lips ghosted across the top of her breasts, she pushed him back. She was panting for air and when he looked at her she saw he looked a bit hurt. 

“I’ve never had someone kiss me…there,” she managed to say.

His expression cleared. “Too much for today, little bird?”

She nodded and ducked her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, my fair maiden,” he murmured and lifted her chin with two fingers under her chin. He gazed at her, eyes wandering all over her face. “My beautiful little bird.”

“What have you been doing the past few days?” she asked softly, attempting to gather her wits about her. 

“Missing you,” he muttered. He lifted her up then and deposited her on the sofa beside him. He got up and went to the window. “How about some air?”

Her racing heart felt as though it might just jump right out of her chest with his confession. Her mind clouded with thoughts in the next instant – what did Sandor want from her? Feel for her? Was he looking for her to replace the whores he saw in London? And what did she want from him? What did _she_ feel? Did she want to replace the whores he saw in London? Her cheeks reddened at the thought. The part of her that was very much a lady rejected the thought immediately, but that wanton part of her that desired more of what Sandor could teach her caused her to shiver with anticipation. 

“Any more balls on the horizon?” he asked her as he stood by the window he’d just opened. 

“Next week,” she told him. Then she frowned. “We are having the Greyjoys over for dinner tomorrow night.”

Sandor folded his arms across his chest. “And how do you feel about that? You don’t look happy. Did you not like the boy?”

She looked at him in confusion. “The boy…? Oh, you mean Lord Theon.” She had forgotten about him. “No, I did not like him.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t like the way he looked at me, and I didn’t like that he asked if he could kiss me during our dance.” Sansa was stunned at the display of fury on Sandor’s face. 

“He asked you that?” he rasped, his hands turned to fists at his sides. “Did you tell your brother what his _dear friend_ asked you?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve not wanted to upset Robb.”

“You’re not going to let him court you, are you?” Sandor asked, eyes narrowed. “He didn’t look like much I’m sure I could take him down with a well met fist if he—”

“How do you know what he looks like?” 

Sandor looked trapped. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Sansa jumped to her feet. “You were there, weren’t you? I saw you! I saw you in the window.”

He sighed and hung his head. 

“Sandor, tell me please. Were you there that night looking in the window—”

“Like some kind of pathetic dog? Aye, I was.”

“I went to look for you! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come inside?”

“Why are you seeking answers to questions you already have the answer to? You know why I didn’t come inside and besides, even if I wanted to the ball had already started well before I showed up.”

“Why did you come to the window? Why were you there?”

“The same reason you wanted to know about my whores. The same reason why it upset you to think I’d gone to London to fuck my way through a bawdy house.”

“Honestly, Sandor, your language—”

“Do you understand why, little bird? Why I was there and what it was you felt?”

She pursed her lips together and clasped her hands together in front of her. She looked every inch the imperious lady. 

Sandor stepped closer to her. “Say it, Sansa. Say you know why.”

She case her eyes to the floor but kept her chin up. “I was…”

“Say it,” he rasped and planted himself right in front of her. “Look at me and say it.”

She shut her eyes briefly and then looked up at him and heaved a deep breath. “I was jealous.”

The good side of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. “Now you know why I was there. I wanted to see. I had to see what he was all about. If you liked him. I didn’t want you to.”

“Oh, Sandor—”

He pulled her to him and kissed her again. Whatever it was they were doing it meant something, something deeper. He’d known that for himself for a while now, but now Sansa was aware of it. Sandor just didn’t know what the hell to do about it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I was so touched by all the love this little story of mine got last chapter, I was inspired to write more!

Over the course of the next week, Sandor knew what heaven was. And he hadn’t even yet been inside his little bird. Whenever she visited him with a blush on her cheeks and a bit of trepidation and shyness in her demeanor, Sandor would gather her up in his arms and kiss her until their lips were chapped, their tongues were tired, and the skin around her mouth was red from his beard. Then she’d curl up on his lap and just talk about anything or nothing at all. 

Sandor, having little experience of love, wondered if this was what he was feeling. This longing for Sansa even when her lips were fused to his. The ache he felt when he saw her, when he held her in his arms, and especially when she had to leave him. He laid in bed and took himself in hand, her name on his lips when he met his crisis. She was his first thought in the morning, and his last thought at night. 

He had never desired a woman like this. Sure there had been a few women he’d seen from afar and become smitten with, but he’d known that his fantasies of them were not based in any kind of reality. They had just been that: fantasies. If they’d ever looked upon his face they would have run screaming in terror. The fear of that had kept him away. Whores were different. They were paid not to turn a man away, not even if they were cringing on the inside. 

Once, he had thought perhaps he could make one his wife. He’d been young and had preferred one above all else. She had put on quite the show for him when he would come to her. She would tell him how she loved his cock and how he made her come. She told him his scars didn’t even bother her. Then he’d overheard her one night talking with one of her friends at the bawdy house about how she hoped he would stop coming and asking for her. “His cock makes me come all right, but only because I have to close my eyes and pretend he’s someone else!”

Devastated, Sandor had never returned there again. 

He’d wondered before if his infatuation with Sansa was borne of the simple fact that his scars truly did not seem to bother her. But, no, he knew now that wasn’t all it was. It certainly helped, but it was just Sansa. Her sweet nature, the way she didn’t back down from his gruff nature – he was well aware of the brute he could be – and how smart she was. He was pleased that Ned Stark was not one of those fathers who denied his daughter a proper education. And any subject she didn’t know and Sandor was in the position to teach her, she listened with rapt attention and asked all the right questions.

Yes, she was a lady through and through – her secret visits to his home and their stolen kisses notwithstanding – and truthfully, Sandor hadn’t ever had much use for proper ladies, but he wanted Sansa with a fierceness even he didn’t know he possessed. 

Soon, he knew, he was going to have to decide what to do about it all because Lady Sansa Stark was not meant for clandestine meetings. She was meant for marriage. Probably to a little shit lording like Theon Greyjoy. And the more Sandor thought about it, the more he knew that was something he could not let happen. He wasn’t a lord, but he had money. Plenty of it since he’d inherited his father’s and then his brother’s money. He could take care of Sansa. She’d not want for anything, not his little bird. 

He feared beyond making sure all her immediate needs were taken care of, how in the world he would be a good husband to her. For one thing, there was no way he would be able to live his life the way he had been. Sansa, he knew, was a social creature. She would never be content to stay at home and never see her friends, never dance, and never attend any balls. She was a young girl and those things brought her pleasure. And he knew her well enough to know that she would demand it of him to join her in her outings. How would he be able to say no to her then? Plus, if it upset her if he did send her off without him, how long would it be before Sansa decided that perhaps she’d made a mistake in marrying him and seek to find a way to leave him?

Yes, this was all something Sandor knew he had to make some decisions about. But at the moment it was hard to think of such things when his lips were trailing along her collarbone and he was so very close to the bounty that was her chest?

He hadn’t gotten near her breasts since their first kisses here, in his study. But now he was daring to move closer…closer. He cupped her breast in his hand and lifted it a bit, allowing him to swirl his tongue in a nonsensical pattern over the swell of her breast. 

He heard her sharp intake of breath and her hands on his shoulders gripped him harder. Sandor lifted his head and looked into the lust-filled eyes of his beloved. “Does it scare you when I kiss you there, little bird?”

She swallowed and nodded, her blue eyes side. “A—a little?”

“Why? Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. It’s just that…no one has ever…”

“And no one but me ever will,” he growled before he kissed her hard and deeply. He pressed his forehead to hers, pleased that she was panting as he was. “Trust me, love, you will like it very much. Yes?”

“Yes,” she whispered and his lips twitched into a grin. 

He lifted her in his arms them and she looked at him in surprise. “I’ve an idea,” he said as he carried her over to his desk and perched her on top of it. She looked a bit unsure about this turn of events, and especially when he pushed her skirts up. She stayed his hands, looking at him in alarm. 

“Sandor!” she exclaimed. 

He laughed and kissed her. “I won’t be doing anything to your cunt—”

“ _Sandor_ ,” she hissed, turning red. 

“My innocent bird,” he murmured and tucked some hair behind her shoulder. “Trust me. I won’t do anything to you down there. If you want it, you’ll do it on your own.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How?”

He pulled her closer to the edge of the desk, his leg between hers. “When you feel the need to relieve some tension…” He slapped his thigh. “Here I am.”

She still looked perplexed by this, but she relaxed by degrees when he kissed her again. He pulled her further into him and made a path of kisses to her ear. He tugged on her lobe with his teeth and she moaned. He pressed a kiss to her pulse and then trailed kisses down her neck. 

He tugged down the top of her dress gently while looking in her eyes and she nodded, letting him know that this was all right. She looked uncertain still, but there was a spark of curiosity there, too. 

When her dress was low enough for her breasts to pop free, Sandor looked down. The sight of her creamy pert breasts topped with hard little nipples and sprinkled with freckles was his undoing. He groaned and leaned in, his mouth watering for a taste. She hissed when his mouth closed around her nipple and sucked. He groaned again and swirled his tongue around the nipple. 

She tasted like clotted cream and sugar and he was already addicted. 

He grinned against her skin when he felt her hands in his hair. At first tentatively as though she thought to push him away. But then he sucked again and she moaned and tunneled her fingers through his hair. 

He took his mouth off her breast and then blew on her nipple. She started and dug her nails in his scalp. Sandor didn’t care. And now, he noticed, she’d moved so that her cunt was against his thigh. He could feel the heat of it even through her pantalets. His mouth watered at the thought of how wet it probably was. His cock was so hard he thought it might split his pants. 

_Later_ , he thought. _First this._

When he took her other breast into his mouth and suckled from it, Sansa began to move her hips against his legs. When he pulled back to blow on her nipple, she gasped his name. He leaned in and captured her lips and placed his hands gently on her hips, guiding her movements against his leg. “That’s my little bird, my Sansa,” he rasped. “Ride my leg. Take your pleasure.”

“Sandor, I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she whimpered. 

“You’re nearing your first _la petite mort._ Let it happen, little bird. Come for me…”

“How?” she asked in frustration.

He drew her down further against his leg so that she was just about straddling his thigh. “Harder against me, love, harder…”

He kissed her and swept the pads of his thumbs over her nipples again and again. Then he took one in his mouth again and she threw her head back and cried out. “Sandor!” 

He buried his face in her neck and nuzzled there. “Yes, that’s it, Sansa, my love, my little bird, my sweet precious bird…” he muttered against her skin. 

She held herself stiffly against him and then all at once she collapsed. He felt wetness on his thigh and groaned. He had no doubt he would be sniffing that area later like the depraved dog he was. 

“Sandor,” she whispered, sounding partly pleased and partly scandalized. 

He smirked as he drew back and looked into her luminous blue eyes. She looked bewildered and sated at the same time. “I told you you’d have need of my leg.”

She buried her face in his chest and he held onto her tightly, whispering to her how beautiful she was, how perfect, how she tasted like clotted cream and sugar – and how he couldn’t wait to make her come again.


	11. Chapter 11

“The Craster ball is tomorrow night, yes?” Sandor asked the afternoon after Sansa had experienced her first la petite mort. They were sitting together under the tree at the pond and Sansa was sitting in between his legs with his arms wrapped around her. Her lips were already swollen from the kisses they’d shared and Sansa was trying her best not to act the wanton and ask him what else he could teach her. 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed as she trailed the tip of her fingers along Sandor’s bare arm. He’d complained it was too hot after they’d arrived and taken of his waistcoat and pulled up the sleeves of his shirt. 

“I’m going to come.”

Sansa froze and stopped all movement. She turned and knelt between his legs. Her eyes were wide as she regarded him. He saw hope in her expression, too. “Pardon?” she asked. 

His lips twitched and he pushed some hair off her shoulder. “I’m going to come. I get all the invitations…I’m going to attend this one.”

“Really?”

He nodded. 

“Why this one?”

He sighed. “Because I don’t want that fucker your brother is trying to set you up with ask you for another kiss.”

She smiled teasingly. “And you think you’ll be able to stop him if you come?”

“I’ll put my bloody fist through his face if he so much as breathes in your direction,” Sandor growled. 

Sansa clapped her hands together and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Sandor, I’m so happy you’re coming!” She pulled back to look at him and found him grinning from ear to ear at her. “You did RSVP, correct? I’m sure it would be fine if you just showed up, but I think for your first ball it would be better if you—”

He cut her off with a deep kiss. Sansa moaned and leaned into him. 

Sandor broke the kiss in order to nuzzle at her neck. “You never told me what happened with the dinner the Greyjoys attended at your home.”

“Nothing of import happened. He wanted to go for a walk…” She moaned when he tugged on her hear with his teeth and he grinned against her cheek. 

“Did you go for a walk with him?” Sandor asked and licked at her pulse point.

“No,” she gasped. 

“Good girl.”

“Get your hands off my sister!”

Sandor and Sansa both froze, and then Sansa was scrambling to her feet and Sandor followed suit. Sansa stood in front of Sandor like a human shield and held out her hands as if to stave off the auburn-haired gentlemen who was climbing down from his horse and was focused on Sandor with a murderous expression on his face. It had to be Robb Stark, Sansa’s older brother. 

“Robb, please,” Sansa pleaded and stepped forward. “Please do not be angry, please do not go after him!”

Robb pushed his sister out of the way and went for Sandor, but Sandor – angry that he’d so carelessly pushed Sansa away – punched Robb in the face. 

The boy went down fast. 

Sansa gasped, her eyes wide, and she pressed her hands to her face. “Sandor! You – how could you – you punched my brother!”

“I didn’t like him pushing you like that, Little Bird,” Sandor tried to explain as he watched her kneel beside Robb who was groaning and holding his nose. He saw blood trickle down his chin and Sandor grimaced. He’d hit the boy a sight too hard probably. 

“Tell him to sit up,” Sandor growled and knelt down on the other side of Robb. Robb glared at him and Sandor yanked him up to sitting. Sandor got up then and went to jacket to retrieve a handkerchief. He grabbed one out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. 

“What the hell are you doing, Sansa?” Robb asked. “Who the bloody hell is this?!”

“It’s San – Mr. Sandor Clegane,” Sansa said and bit her lip. “Our neighbor.”

“The giant brute?” Robb asked. 

“Giant brute?” Sandor echoed and looked at Sansa in question. 

She looked up at him in exasperation. “You are giant, and can be a brute – especially on that first day when I met you with Rickon. You can’t possibly deny it.”

He couldn’t. 

“You were touching my sister inappropriately, sir,” Robb hissed. He looked at his sister. “You were kissing him and practically in his lap, Sansa!”

“More than practically I’d say,” Sandor drawled. 

Sansa’s head whipped up and she glared at Sandor. “Do. Not. Help.”

Sandor shrugged and narrowed his eyes at Robb. “Don’t tell me you’ve not kissed any ladies yourself, pup.”

“That’s not the point,” Robb said and climbed to his feet, the handkerchief still at his nose. Sansa stood and put herself in between Sandor and Robb. “She’s my sister!”

“And I’m sure the ladies you’ve kissed have been someone’s sister, too,” Sandor pointed out. 

“Sandor, honestly,” Sansa hissed. 

Sandor put his hand on her shoulder and she shrugged him off. He tried not to let that bother him. He’d punched her brother after all. She was distraught, and she’d been caught in a compromising position. A position like that…

 _Bloody hell._

Well, this was certainly going to force his hand quicker than he’d thought. He’d had it all planned, somewhat at least. He would attend the ball tonight and play the perfect gentleman. He’d dance with his Little Bird and make sure he was introduced to her family. Then he would court her properly. Take her on carriage rides out in the open, visit the town just as she’d wanted him to, and do all the things a proper gentleman did for his woman and then when enough time had passed, he would ask for her hand in marriage. 

He wanted his Little Bird for his own and he meant to have her. He wasn’t stupid; he knew a lady like Sansa would eventually be pushed into marriage and Sandor would not let any man other him claim her for his own. She belonged to _him._

And he belonged to _her_. 

He was terrified to do it. Terrified to mingle in society, but if that’s what he had to do to make Sansa his forever, then he’d do it. It was a testament to… _Good Christ._

It was testament to how much he loved her. 

Now this was surely going to throw a wrench in his plans. He wanted to romance Sansa just as she wanted. Not force her hand into marriage with him. 

“Mother and Father will never allow this, Sansa,” Robb said, gesturing to Sandor. 

Sandor snapped to attention. What was he getting at exactly?

“How old is he? Forty?”

“I’m thirty, pup,” Sandor interjected. “Not that old for Christ’s sake.”

“And his scars – bloody hell, he is Frankenstein’s creature just as you said.”

Sandor froze. 

“Robb Stark!” Sansa shouted. “How could you say that?”

Robb’s eyes went wide and he stiffened, apparently having realized what he’d just said. His gaze flickered to Sandor. “I’m sorry—”

“Not quite sure it’s you that needs to apologize,” Sandor snapped. 

Sansa turned and faced him, looking stricken. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounds, Sandor.”

“Is that right?” Sandor spat and marched off towards Stranger. 

“Sandor, wait!” Sansa called after him and then ran after him. “I didn’t mean it that way and it was the first time I met you!”

Sandor spun and faced her, causing her to stumble back a bit. He glared down at her. “Then how did you mean it, hmm?”

“Just that you were… I mean that you have them…”

“Scars you mean? Yes, Sansa, I have scars.”

“And that you hid yourself away after having been shunned before…”

“Like the bloody goddamn _creature_?”

She nodded and looked down and started to cry. “It was before I knew you. Before I cared. Sandor, please don’t—”

“I’ve heard enough,” he rasped and untied Stranger’s reins from the tree. 

“Sandor, wait, please!” Sansa begged him. “Let me explain!”

But Sandor didn’t wait for her explanations. He was ashamed. His face. His bloody goddamn face was a horror to her after all. She felt sorry for him, just as he’d feared. Why the hell she would let him take the liberties he did was beyond him. 

_Experience._

Yes, that’s what it was. She’d wanted experience before she was wed to some sniveling dandy of the ton. Who would be more desperate to show a lady like her all the pleasures to be had between a man and a woman than an ugly recluse like him?

He kicked Stranger into a gallop and didn’t look back. It wasn’t until he returned home that he bothered to wipe away the tears that had fallen.


	12. Chapter 12

Sansa whipped around to her brother, tears streaming down her face and screamed, “How could you say that in front of him?!”

Robb’s mouth fell open and he moved away the handkerchief from his face. There was dried blood around his nose and it was beginning to swell. 

“You deserved that punch!” she hollered at him as she untied Lady from the branch on the tree where, not very long ago, she and Sandor had been very happy. She climbed up on Lady and glared down at her brother. “If you tell Mother and Father about this I will never forgive you, Robb Stark. I will never forgive you and I will never speak to you again so help me God!”

She galloped away, heading straight for Sandor’s home. When she arrived, she practically jumped off Lady and then ran up the front stairs to his home and pounded on the door. No answer. She tried the door and it wouldn’t turn. Not even his butler would answer her. 

Sansa ran down the stairs and then around to the back and tried the door there. Nothing. “Sandor, please! Don’t shut me out! Please, listen to me! I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Please, let me in and let me explain!”

Nothing. 

“I love you!” she called out. “I love you, Sandor, and I’m sorry.”

Sobbing, Sansa made her way around the house and got back on Lady. She sat atop Lady for a while hoping that Sandor would come out. 

He never did. 

Finally, Sansa rode off into the countryside and waited until she had calmed down enough to return home. 

xxxxxxxxx

When Sansa returned home she went straight to her bedchamber, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. Her mother came to check on her, concerned by how she’d run up to her bedchamber and had refused to even tell her exactly what was wrong. 

Sansa told her that her head hurt and her stomach was a bit upset. Catelyn didn’t argue. She put her hand to her forehead, declared her a bit warm and sent for tea and headache powder. She even had Sansa’s dinner sent up so she could rest. Sansa used the time to pen Sandor a letter, pace, cry, and hope he would read her letter when she had it delivered. 

It read, simply:

_Dear Sandor,_

_Please, my love, allow me to explain._

_Yes, the creature was ugly. You are not. You are so handsome and beautiful to me. I love you, Sandor. Please believe me when I say that._

_When I said that you were like the creature I only meant in the way you hid yourself from the world just as the creature had done after he’d exposed himself to Society and had been spurned. He hid away just as you do. I did not mean that you were horrible to look upon, Sandor, you must believe I would never say that! Or even think it! Do you not remember how I have tried so desperately to get you out into Society? To meet with your neighbors and attend balls?_

_Sandor, I love you. I didn’t know what it was that I felt before but I do now. Since you kissed me that first time I think I knew but had no experience on the matter of course. I love you, Sandor. Please, do not leave me._

_Say the word and I shall come running._

_Yours,_

_Sansa_

When a knock came to her door later, Sansa knew it was Robb without him having to announce himself. She called for him to enter and when he did she glared at him as she stood in the middle of her room, her arms folded across her chest. 

“Sansa, I’m sorry,” he said, looking and sounding positively contrite. As he should. “I did not say anything to Mother and Father, though I would encourage you to do so. What you were doing, carrying on with that man was not right. You’re a lady—”

“And I love him.” Tears stung her eyes. Just when she’d thought she’d cried as much as she could…

Robb gaped at her. “Love him? Are you serious?”

“Quite. I have been visiting him for quite a while now.”

“Alone?!”

“Yes. I enjoy his company. He’s…he’s been hurt before, Robb. He hides away because of his scars but he sees me.”

“Of course, you’re a beautiful woman. What do you think a man like that wants with you, Sansa?” Robb demanded. “I got an eyeful of just what it was he wants, too.”

“It’s not like that,” Sansa snapped. 

“Then how is it?”

“He didn’t even kiss me until over a week ago. Before that I saw him almost every day and all we did was talk, go for walks, go to the pond, and he taught me a bit about botany. That’s all it was, Robb.”

“That doesn’t make it proper, Sansa. You were with him without a chaperone—”

“Oh, hang your chaperones! I don’t give a bloody damn!”

“Well you should! You’re lucky it was me that caught you and not someone else from town.”

“Oh, yes, I consider myself quite lucky that it was you,” she snapped. “You hurt him with what you said. You made him think that I think him ugly and he’s not. He’s beautiful and I love him.” She started to cry. “And he would not see me.”

Robb sat down on her bed and sighed. “Against my better judgment, I will do what I can to fix this. What would you have me do?”

She went over to her escritoire and picked up the letter she’d already prepared for delivery. “Will you deliver this letter to him for me?”

Robb nodded. “Yes. In the morning.”

“Thank you.”

All night Sansa clung to the hope that once Sandor read her letter he would either come see her himself or send word that she was welcome to come over, and soon, because he loved her too and wanted to see her post haste. 

But when the later came back that evening, delivered by one of his servants, Sansa’s hopes came crashing down around her. 

He hadn’t even opened it. 

When Sansa tried to see him the day after, this time the door did open for her. 

She was informed Sandor had gone to London for an indefinite amount of time. 

xxxxxxxxxx

Two weeks. 

Sandor was gone to London for two weeks. 

He spent most of that time in his cups. 

He spent what was left missing Sansa so desperately he found himself rubbing the spot over his heart as though that could ease the ache. 

How much self-loathing could one man do? It turned out he could do a lot in two weeks. He’d even cried. He’d even taken a knife against his face in a drunken stupor thinking he could just cut his scars from his face and be done with it. 

Thankfully, he’d come to his senses before he’d done such a thing. 

When he returned home finally, he took to bed and slept for almost twelve hours.

When he awoke the next morning he broke his fast and thought about Sansa. He was forever thinking about Sansa. Now that his head was clear he thought perhaps he had been too hasty in not reading the letter she’d sent over. In refusing to see her. In not allowing his staff to even answer the door should she arrive. 

In his defense he’d been hurt. Devastated, more like. He’d never thought he’d meet a woman like Sansa Stark. A woman that didn’t run at the sight of him. Instead, she’d let him kiss her and touch her. She was such an innocent…and her behavior did not line up with his previous assessment of Sansa only using him for experience. A woman like Sansa could have any man she wanted – Theon Greyjoy had given himself to her on a silver platter and she hadn’t wanted him. She’d wanted Sandor. Had run out of a ball to see if he was there. 

“Excuse me, sir, but Lord Robb Stark is here to see you,” his butler announced. 

Sandor hadn’t even had time to respond before Robb Stark was pushing his way inside Sandor’s dressing room. He looked angry. As angry as he had the day he’d caught his sister on Sandor’s lap. 

Sandor got to his feet and threw his napkin down on the table. “What do you want now?”

“To ask if at your earliest convenience you could remove your head from your arse.”

Sandor arched a brow. “Pardon me?” he growled. 

“My sister has been distressed since that day at the pond. She will not eat and she has barely slept. She has spent the last two weeks in a stupor.”

“So have I,” Sandor muttered. It hurt him though, to hear that Sansa was so upset. 

Robb held up his hand in which he held the letter that Sandor had returned to her. Robb placed it on the table. “I would entreat you to read the letter, Mr. Clegane. I would also entreat you to see my sister, or at least attempt to reach her in some way. I promised her I would fix what I broke. What I said….it was not how she meant it. She defends you constantly, despite my misgivings. My sister has always been a happy girl. Full of smiles. Full of life. This has brought her low and I beg of you to at least hear her out. I’ll wait in the foyer if you need some time to read the letter alone. I wish to give her something…some shred of hope that you will see her.”

Sandor watched him leave as quickly as he came and with hands shaking he picked up the letter he’d dismissed so carelessly. 

After he read it, he sat down hard in his chair and forced himself not to cry. She said she loved him. Him. How had he managed to make her love him? Had she meant it? Did she know what this meant? What it entailed? He grimaced. He’d not made this easy on her had he? He’d made a right mess of things by not listening to her. It was just that he’d known such little kindness in his life… 

He called for Robb, his voice hoarse from emotion. “Where is she now?” Sandor asked. 

“Home. We are putting on a ball tonight—”

“What time?”

“Eight.”

Sandor nodded. “I’ll be there then.”

“Shall I tell her you’re coming?”

“No, I want it to be a surprise. Does she know you came here today?”

Robb shook his head. “I didn’t tell her. I was afraid if you were still gone I’d have to break her heart again.”

Sandor winced. “I’m a bloody fucking fool.”

“As I am,” Robb murmured. “A bloody fucking fool with a big mouth.”

“Aye, I won’t argue with you on that.”

Robb shot him a look and Sandor attempted to grin. “Clear her dance card for me, Lord Robb Stark. Tonight, I mean to claim Sansa for every single one.”

Robb frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but then apparently thought better of it and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He left and Sandor called for his valet to begin preparations for him for the ball that night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss me?

To say that Sandor was nervous was a gross understatement. Nervous didn’t seem like an effective enough word either. 

He was bloody terrified. 

He was about to present himself to a roomful of his fellow country folk all in the name of love. All for Sansa. He did better in the bustling city of London where he could for the most part go unseen in the massive crowds. This though…this was putting himself front and center in a roomful of people that would see him. See his _face._

He imagined the gasps of horror – could practically hear them in his head – and it made him tremble inside. But there would be Sansa. His beautiful Little Bird. He imagined her standing there like some kind of beacon of light, calling him home. 

He had to focus on Sansa; she was the only one that mattered. 

So, much to the delight of his valet, he prepared for the night. He bathed. He had his beard trimmed. He wore some kind of buggering cologne, and he dressed in his finest. 

And then he was off. 

xxxxxxxx

“Why do you keep looking at the door?” Sansa all but growled at her brother. “It’s annoying.”

Robb looked at her with an arched brow. “I’ve yet to discover something you don’t find annoying these days.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and forced herself to smile when the Tyrell’s came up to them to say hello. Theon Greyjoy was right behind them and if Sansa wasn’t mistaken, he was ogling Margaery’s behind. How crass. 

When he planted himself in front of her, Sansa’s smile wavered. His grin made her skin crawl. His slimy grin made her think he knew what she looked like without her dress on. 

“And how are you this evening, Lady Sansa?” he asked with a deep bow. 

“I am well thank you,” she chirped, not bothering to curtsy and not caring if that was considered rude. 

“I want you to save me a dance,” he said. 

“Do you?”

His smile wavered. “Do you not want to dance?”

“Oh, I do want to dance.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that you don’t want to dance with me then?”

“You have the right of it, Lord Theon. I don’t want to dance with you. At all. Ever.”

He gaped at her, probably unable to believe that she’d spoken to him thus. Sansa was beyond caring though. What did one care for politeness when one’s heart was broken? Nothing else mattered to Sansa. 

Theon opened his mouth to no doubt show his true colors further by giving her a set down when a hush fell over the crowd, followed by murmurs and a few gasps. Sansa looked about the room to discover what had caused such a reaction. 

“Sansa,” Robb hissed, gaining her attention. “Look.” He pointed discreetly to the door and Sansa’s mouth fell open. 

“Sandor,” she breathed. 

Was she dreaming? Had she finally lost her mind and conjured him up? But no, no, Robb saw him. Robb pointed him out. She took a step forward, but Robb stayed her by jutting out an arm in front of her. “Let him come to us,” he whispered. 

Sandor moved towards her and her family with purpose and determination in his stride. His gaze was directly on her and she felt herself begin to redden. 

Sansa darted a glance at her parents who were watching him approach with a mix of curiosity and displeasure. She hurried to stand by their side in order to receive Sandor and lend him support. What she wanted to do was fling herself in his arms, but this was not the time to do it. 

So, yes, perhaps she was aware of some proprieties. 

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark, I am Mr. Sandor Clegane,” Sandor said to Sansa’s parents. “I am your neighbor.”

“Yes, we know who you are,” Ned said and frowned at him. 

“What happened to your face?” Arya asked with distaste from Catelyn’s side. 

“Arya,” Sansa hissed. “Do not be rude.”

Arya lifted her hand to point and Sansa smacked it down. Her sister glared at her, but Sansa did not care. Arya had no idea the bravery it took for Sandor to come here and show himself. She would not have him made fun of or feel ashamed. She was so proud of him and hoped it meant what she thought it might mean…

“I was burned, mi’lady, at a young age by my brother,” Sandor explained to Arya. 

“That’s awful,” Arya murmured. 

“Indeed it was,” Sandor replied. “Lord and Lady Stark, I do hope that you can forgive me for my rudeness when you came to call. You see, I am not very comfortable showing my, er, face.”

“Well, we shall endeavor to put that behind us now, Mr. Clegane,” Ned said. “Although I do not recall inviting you to our ball?”

“I invited him,” Robb said. “I, uh, noticed that he hadn’t been included in the invitations…”

Ned and Catelyn both looked at him with eyes narrowed. They were not stupid; they knew something was amiss. 

Robb stepped forward and put on a big show of introducing himself to Sandor. Then he took it upon himself to introduce Arya and then, finally, Sansa. 

Sandor grasped her hand and kissed the back of it and Sansa curtsied on shaky legs. She felt she might just swoon. She wanted to act as though this was the first time they’d met, but it was hard. She had so many questions for him, so many things she wanted to say. After two weeks of not seeing him, hearing from him, and imagining him knee deep in whores, he was here. Sandor would not have shown up at a ball of all things if he was still upset with her. He would not come just to tell her he had no desire to ever see her again. 

“May I have the honor of the next dance, Lady Sansa?” he asked, his gaze heated, his voice a deep rumble. 

“Yes,” she said almost breathlessly. 

“Are you joking?!” Theon exclaimed. 

Sansa snapped her head towards Theon and was about to give him a set down when Robb said, “Oh, look at that. A new dance has just begun.” He nudged Sansa in the direction of the dance floor and Sandor wasted no time in offering his hand to her. 

Sansa wanted to cry out of the joy of seeing him, of him being here, and of what this could mean. She also felt so overwhelmed with love for him that she could barely contain it. This was all so new to her, this being in love business. 

When Sandor pulled her in close for the waltz, Sansa looked up at him in wonder. “You know how to waltz?”

He nodded once. “I might be a bit rusty. I apologize in advance if I step on your feet.” 

He was rusty, and he did step on her feet, but Sansa didn’t care. She counted to him aloud and softly as she had been taught and soon his steps were a bit smoother. 

“It would seem we make a good team,” Sandor told her once the dance was over. He bowed to her, keeping his eyes on her. 

She curtsied, keeping hers on him. “It would seem.”

Sandor extended his arm. “I wish to speak to you alone, Sansa.”

“I would like that,” she whispered. She darted a glance at her family. “They are watching me.”

“I don’t care,” he growled. 

“I know, but try for now, please?”

“For you, Little Bird, I think I would do just about anything.”

He loved her. He had to love her! She tightened her hand around his arm. “Speak with Robb,” she said quietly. “Allow him to introduce you to people.”

“And where will you be, Little Bird?”

“Pretending I am not waiting for a moment alone with you.”

“I am going to eat you right up, my Lady,” he growled to her. 

“I cannot wait,” she said breathlessly. 

Robb was waiting for them, an expectant look on his face. “Mr. Clegane, would you allow me to introduce you to some of our friends?”

Sandor nodded, though he did not look particularly pleased by this. “Of course,” he said gruffly and darted a look at Sansa. 

“I am proud of you,” she whispered. 

He straightened at her words, stood taller with his chest puffing up a bit. “Lead the way, Lord Robb.”

By Sansa’s estimate it took forever for Robb to introduce Sandor to people. She watched them as they made their way about the room, and though some people looked upon Sandor with distaste, the majority took his scarring in stride. Sansa made a mental note of the more judgmental ones: if she had any say they would not be invited back to any ball her family had if they could not accept Sandor. 

“Sansa, how does Robb know Mr. Clegane?” her mother asked with a frown. 

“Oh, I, uh, think that Robb mentioned he’s run into him a few times down at the pond,” Sansa replied, making a mental note to tell Robb her little lie. Though, it wasn’t exactly a lie…Robb had run into Sandor there, it just so happened that Sansa had been with him. And on his lap. 

“He seems rather unrefined,” Catelyn murmured. 

“Well, from what I understand about him, he does not mingle with society very often on account of his scarring.”

“They are quite atrocious.”

“I do believe someone once taught me that it is the person inside that matters and not how one appears on the outside?”

Catelyn smirked. “I wonder who that someone was.”

“It is a mystery,” Sansa said with a grin. 

“I do not judge him for his scars,” Catelyn said, “But I do remember how he would not see your father and I when we attempted to visit him.”

“But perhaps you could understand his predilection for hiding? I mean, just look at the reaction at some of the people here – people whom I do not think we should consider friends any longer. It is rude to judge a man by the scars on his face when one doesn’t know him.”

“Tell me, Sansa, how do you know Mr. Clegane so well?”

“Oh, I…I might have run into him with Robb a few times.”

Her mother watched her with that look that said, _“I’m onto you.”_

It was then that Sansa decided to go to the refreshment table to grab a lemonade. She stood by it, sipping her lemonade without really tasting it and trying to catch Robb’s eye. Sandor saw her and nudged Robb discreetly. When her brother looked over at her, Sansa casually looked over to the open doors to the veranda and then back at her brother. 

Robb rolled his eyes and nodded. 

Inch by inch, Sansa slunk outside and had to wait another eternity for Sandor. Then, finally, she heard his gravelly voice rasp, “Little Bird.”

She turned and in an instant she was in his arms and his lips were on hers. She clutched at him, meeting his passion with her own. When he broke the kiss he frowned and wiped at the tears that fell from her eyes. “Why the tears, Little Bird?”

“Because I’m happy you’re here,” she said, laughing a bit nervously. “Because I was so scared I would never see you again. I thought you hated me and now you’re here—”

He cut her off with a fast, hard kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “Little Bird, I could never hate you.” He took her face in his hands and looked at her searchingly. “I was being a bloody damn fool and I’m sorry it took so long to remove, as your brother put it, my head from my arse. Do you forgive me?”

“I forgave you the instant I saw you.”

“I love you,” he said fervently. “I love you and I want you to be mine.”

Pure unadulterated joy suffused Sansa. “I am, Sandor. I have been for a very long time now,” she whispered. 

“All right, listen, anyone could come out here and see this.” Robb’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness. “I can hear you kissing for the love of God. There is only so much I can take, Sansa. You’re still my little sister.”

Sansa giggled, partly out of joy and partly out of nerves. “We should return to the ball,” she told Sandor. 

“Will you dance with me again, Little Bird?” Sandor asked. 

“Two dances are unseemly, you know,” she teased. “It is grounds for a scandal.”

“I don’t care,” Sandor whispered. “Let them all talk. You’re mine and I’m yours and I don’t care if they all know it.”

Grinning, Sansa kissed him again, and when Robb cleared his throat quite pointedly, Sandor and Sansa parted and back to the ball she went.


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa was lazing in bed the next morning with a broad smile on her face as she recounted the ball with Sandor. He’d come! He’d told her he loved her and wanted her for always! She was so happy she thought she could burst apart at the seams. 

And then a loud knock came at her door and she frowned as she sat up. “Come in!”

Robb came rushing in looking a bit wild-eyed. “He’s here. Sandor is here. Downstairs. He wants to ask for your hand. Sansa, you’ve got to stop him. He can’t do that yet, and he’s not listening to me!”

Sansa scrambled out of bed. “Where are Mother and Father?”

“Outside. I managed to get him to wait for you to come down, but if he sees them…”

“Put him in the study and tell him I’ll meet him there. Do not let Mother and Father know he is here!”

“Hurry!” Robb said and rushed out of the room. 

Sansa pulled the bell for her maid and went to her wardrobe to select a dress. Leave it to Sandor to go from one extreme to the next. He either did things full measure or didn’t do them at all! 

She had never prepared for the day so fast in her life. She didn’t even allow her maid to do her hair up in some elaborate coiffure. She pulled back into something simple, letting the rest fall around her shoulder. Once she was ready, she flew out of her bedchamber and down the stairs to the study. 

When she entered she found Sandor alone, standing in front of one of the big windows overlooking the front of the estate. 

She closed the door behind her and debated locking it. Then Sandor turned and she forgot all about doing any such thing and ran to him. 

He beamed at her as he strode forward. They met in the middle of the room and Sandor swept her up in his arms and kissed her fervently. Their kiss went on and on and they finished with short, soft kisses as Sandor set her back on her feet. 

“Sandor, you can’t ask for my hand today,” she told him, twining her fingers around one of his locks of hair. 

Sandor frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it isn’t seemly. According to my parents we just met last night.”

“And we danced twice.”

She smiled. “I know, darling, but we need to give them a chance to know you better and from their perspective, you and I need to know one another better.”

“I can think of a few ways I’d like to know you better,” he muttered and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. 

Smiling, Sansa tilted her head to the side to give him better access. She pulled away when she felt him close to leaving a mark and looked at him disapprovingly. 

He grinned at her. “So then what do you propose?”

“That you take me on a carriage ride.”

“A carriage ride, eh?”

She nodded. “With a chaperone.”

“Oh, bloody hell, Sansa.”

“We can take my maid. She won’t say a word if you steal a few kisses.”

“I want more than a few kisses,” he told her pointedly. 

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “I know, and I would like that too, but that will have to wait for when I can sneak away to see you.”

He sighed. “Aye. I’ll play this game then.”

“Courtship, Sandor. You’ll be courting me.”

“It’s a game, don’t matter what you call it. A bunch of prancing about doing things all proper like when all you really want to do is kiss and touch and taste…” He pulled her in for another kiss and Sansa moaned. “My way is better, no?” he rasped. 

“But to get to your way we must do things properly first. So, we’ll have Robb announce your arrival to my parents and then you may ask my father if you can take me on a carriage ride. Do it nicely, Sandor.”

“And where will you be?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. 

“Pleased and surprised to see you have asked. My father will surely allow me to go after seeing how excited I am at the idea and then we may be alone….or at least somewhat alone.”

He sighed again and nodded. “All right, Little Bird. We’ll do things your way.” He frowned. “But for how long?”

“Just a few weeks. We’ll discuss what you must do in the meantime to show my parents how serious you are about courting me. Yes?”

“I told you, Little Bird, I don’t think there is much I wouldn’t do for you.”

She grinned, lifted up on her toes and kissed him. “Wait here.”

“Yes,” he rasped and watched her go with longing on his face. The sight of it made her heart soar. 

Robb was waiting outside the door, arms folded across his chest and a brow quirked. “Are you quite done allowing him to take liberties?”

“Oh, hush up. I know for a fact that you kissed Jeyne Westerling at her ball last month.”

His eyes went wide. “How did you—”

“Everyone knows, Robb. She’s set her cap for you but you’re too blind to notice.”

He cleared his throat and straightened. “Right then. What do you want me to do?”

“Ideally, you’d court her.”

He shot her a withering look. “I mean about Sandor.”

She laughed nervously. “Oh, yes, well, I want you to take him outside to Mother and Father. I’ll come out after you and pretend to be surprised to see him. He’s going to ask if he can take me for a carriage ride and of course I am going to say I would like that.”

“You are taking a chaperone, young lady.”

Now it was her turn to shoot him a withering look. “I am well aware, _Father_.”

Robb rolled his eyes. “Go then before you’re seen.”

Sansa kissed her brother’s cheek. “I love you!”

“You’d better,” he muttered and opened the study door. 

xxxxxxx

Sandor had a bad feeling. Sansa’s parents didn’t like him, he was pretty sure of it. He was also pretty sure they suspected he and Sansa had been acquainted with each other before last night. 

Despite the fact that Sansa had made a big show of appearing on the veranda outside and acting surprised to see Sandor again, speaking to him as though she had just met him last night, Sandor was pretty sure Ned and Catelyn Stark were onto them. 

“Tell me again how you and Robb know one another, Mr. Clegane?” Ned asked. 

“I told you, Father,” Robb said. “We met at the pond.”

“Yes, thank you, Robb,” Ned said with a pointed look at his son. He looked at Sandor. “And you just met my daughter last night?”

“Yes, Lord Stark,” Sandor replied, remembering his courtesies. 

“You certainly asked for a dance from her rather quickly,” Ned said. 

“And you looked right at her when you walked in,” Catelyn added. 

“Oh, fine, you caught us,” Sansa said. Robb and Sandor looked at her nervously. “I passed by his estate one day taking a short cut into town,” she continued. “Mr. Clegane was outside and I apologized to him for being so rude as to use his property as a shortcut. So, yes, we had met before, but it was just so quick it didn’t bear mentioning.”

“I see,” Catelyn murmured and she and Ned exchanged looks. 

“I was…quite taken with your daughter,” Sandor said. He could feel Sansa’s eyes on him and he wasn’t sure if he was helping or making things worse. 

“Is that so?” Ned asked suspiciously. “Are you telling me that you wish to court her, sir?”

Sandor nodded. “Yes.”

Before Ned could reply, Sansa said, “I accept. Please, Father? May I go for a ride on such a lovely day with Mr. Clegane? I will take Mary with me.”

Ned sighed heavily. “Fine.”

It wasn’t exactly what Sandor had hoped, but it was what he’d expected. He knew what he was – he knew how he appeared. His manners did leave much to be desired as well but he was trying for Sansa’s sake. He wanted the Little Bird to be his wife and if that meant he had to jump through hoops to make that happen, then he would. For her. 

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” Sandor said and looked down at Sansa and offered her his arm. “Shall we, my Lady?”

She beamed up at him. “We shall, Mr. Clegane.”

“Don’t forget your maid!” Ned called out after them. 

“I won’t!” Sansa called back and then giggled. “That was not very proper of me to shout like that, but I find I simply do not care.”

Sandor grinned down at her. “With me, Sansa, you can shout to the heavens if you want. In fact, one day I plan to make you do just that.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been so long! I know, and I'm sorry. Hopefully now that I am back into the swing of things with this story I will be updating more frequently. I couldn't believe it had been almost 2 months since the last one!

“Where would you like to go, Little Bird?” Sandor asked Sansa once there were atop his carriage. 

She smiled. “Anywhere.”

“I know where I would like to take you,” he muttered and cast a glance over his shoulder at Sansa’s maid sitting at the back of the carriage, her legs dangling over the side. 

Sansa swatted him playfully. “Behave yourself.”

Sandor snickered and snapped the reigns to get the horses moving. “What about that bakery in town you like so much? Would you like to go there?”

She smiled at him. “I would.” But then she frowned. “Are you sure you are ready for that, Sandor?”

“I went to the ball last night, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but that was a big first step for you. Plus, you had Robb with you.”

“Well, now I have you with me.” 

She smiled and nodded, but he could tell she was still a bit uncertain. Truthfully, so was he. But he wanted very much to be the man Sansa needed him to be, and the only way that was going to happen is if he got used to being out in public. He didn’t like to do things in half-measures either. He wanted to get them done and over with. 

“I’d had a whole plan before that day at the lake, you know,” he told her as the carriage rambled down the lane toward the town. 

She looked at him with her head tilted to the side. “Oh?”

“I was going to do it all proper-like, just as you want me to.”

She smiled. “Then why are you putting up such a fuss now about it?”

“Because I proceeded to then spend two weeks without you and it was hell on Earth.”

She looked at him sadly. “I know. Sandor, while you were away did you…”

“See a whore?”

Sansa cast a furtive glance over her shoulder at her maid and then looked back at Sandor. “Yes. Did you?”

“No. Thought about it though.”

She pursed her lips together and looked forward. 

“I thought it might help, but it wouldn’t have. I’m afraid you’re the only woman I want to be with, Little Bird.”

“Why afraid?” she asked. “That sounds very pleasing to me.”

He smiled gently. “Yes, I suppose it does. But it’s also quite terrifying. I’ve never been in love before, Sansa. You’re the first. I feel like a bumbling fool, much like I did last night with dancing, but I want to try. For you.”

“You’re not alone, Sandor. I’m right here to help you. I’ve never been in love before either, so we can learn as we go.” She bit her lip and looked at him. “What did you do while you were away?”

“I drank. A lot. And I… I almost took a knife to my scars. I was determined to see them gone.”

“Sandor!” Sansa exclaimed. 

“It wasn’t one of my best moments to be sure.”

“Please tell me you won’t ever do such a thing like that again!”

“I promise, Little Bird. Besides, you’ll be with me from now on won’t you?”

She beamed at him. “Yes.”

“I must admit, this is all very frightening.”

“How so?”

“I’ve never been this happy, Sansa. Ever. I’m afraid it’ll be ripped away from me.”

Sansa leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It won’t be. You’re stuck with me now.”

He laughed. “Or you’re stuck with me!”

“Either way, I won’t give you up.”

He grinned. “Nor I you. Go to the ends of the Earth for you I would.”

She smiled. “My sentiments exactly.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor was acutely aware of the stares he and Sansa were getting in town. Though he was certain most of the staring was directed at him and not her. If they did see her at all, it was no doubt to wonder what in the bloody hell she was doing with him. 

He found himself asking that very same question quite often. 

When Sansa introduced Sandor to Nan and the other bakers, he was aware of how they looked at his scars in surprise and then tried to cover up their reaction. Then they just wouldn’t look at him at all. Sandor wasn’t sure which was worse. 

Sansa, if she noticed their reactions, said nothing. She chirped away to Sandor as if it was just another day visiting him at his home. Sandor purchased a lemon tart for her, a blueberry scone for himself, and a treacle tart for Sansa’s maid, along with tea. They sat at one of the tables inside and tucked into their treats. Sandor tried to focus on Sansa and Sansa alone, but with every person that entered the bakery and stared at them, he started to feel uneasy. In fact, he started to break out into a cold sweat. 

“Sandor, are you well?” Sansa asked him 

He nodded and tugged at his cravat. “I am fine, Sansa.”

But now she was staring at him too. He shot her a glare to make her stop and she frowned. “What is it?” she asked softly. 

“Everyone is staring at us, Little Bird. I can feel their eyes on me. Thinking me a hideous dog. And I am. I know that, I just don’t need their staring at me to prove it!”

The last part came out a bit louder than he’d intended and a hush fell over the bakery. 

Sandor froze and then looked out among the sea of faces who were now staring at him quite openly. “Yes, I’m an ugly scarred dog! I know it! And yes, I happen to be with the most beautiful woman in this godforsaken town. What of it?!”

“Sandor, stop,” Sansa hissed. “No one was staring at you until you started to shout!”

Sandor wasn’t sure he believed her. It was possible his own fears and expectations of how being out and about in front of others would go had made him see what wasn’t really there, but he just couldn’t be sure. 

“I wish to leave,” he said hastily and got up, knocking his chair over in his haste. 

He barreled out of the bakery, ashamed, leaving Sansa and her maid no choice but to follow after him. He was readying the horses for their return back, face red, his humiliation complete. 

Sansa came rushing up to him, and grabbed his hands. He looked down at her and felt as though he might actually cry. 

“Sandor, I’m sorry,” she said. 

He nearly choked. “Sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m the one that acted like a blasted madman in there!”

“Because I feel as though this is partly my fault. You’re forcing yourself into society for me.”

He sighed. “I want you to be happy, Sansa. I want to make you happy. I know how much you love your balls, and your bakery, and seeing people—”

“But I love you more than all of that. Listen, I think it’s good for you to get used to being out in society, but perhaps society also needs to get used to you. Instead of jumping in full throttle, perhaps we take it slowly, hmmm?”

That was his Little Bird all over. Making him think. Calming him down. Being sensible when he wasn’t. “Why do you want to marry a man like me? A broken man with a scarred face and nothing real to offer you?”

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you, my love,” she said. “I see a man who is strong—” He snorted at that. She continued on as though he hadn’t. “— intelligent, is most sweet when he wants to be, and has so much love inside him to give. _And_ , I see a man who is handsome.” He looked at her incredulously, but she just gazed up at him as though he was everything to her. It was how he knew he must look at her. 

“Blast, I want to kiss you right now, Little Bird,” he ground out. 

She smiled. “Well then, I suppose we should go.”

When they’d put the town behind them, Sandor stopped the carriage and in plain sight of Sansa’s maid, Sandor leaned over, took Sansa’s face in his hands, and kissed her soundly. 

No doubt about it, he was never letting her go. No matter what. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa felt very much on cloud nine after Sandor had walked her to the door and then departed. She promised him on a whisper to sneak away and see him on the morrow. The grin he’d given her made her blush hotly. 

Once inside the house, she hummed as she took off her bonnet and gloves. When she turned, she jumped a bit at the sight of her parents standing there, frowning at her. 

“Did you enjoy your ride with Mr. Clegane?” Catelyn asked. 

Sansa nodded. “I did.”

“Sansa, your mother and I would like to have a chat with you about Mr. Clegane in my study,” Ned said. “I trust you are now free of any social obligations or is there perhaps another suitor I should be prepared for?”

Sansa swallowed hard. “No, Father.”

Ned nodded and he and Catelyn started for the study. Heaving a deep breath, Sansa followed them. She didn’t have a very good feeling about this. Not. At. All.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been a loooooong time. Very long. TOO long. I'm sorry. I have no excuses. I am hoping that It won't be another 9 months before I update. I'm so sorry! 
> 
> This chapter is for mynameisnoneya

“How do you know Mr. Clegane, Sansa,” Ned said as soon as the doors to the study were shut. He wasn’t wasting any time, Sansa thought. And he looked mighty peeved, too. So did her mother for that matter. They both went to stand behind Ned’s desk and stared her down. She felt a bit on display, which she supposed was the point. 

“I told you last night how I know him,” Sansa said. “Which is to say that I’ve only met him a few times and always by accident.”

“That’s right. You’ve run into him by the pond,” Catelyn said conversationally. 

Sansa nodded, twisting her fingers together before her. She stopped when she realized how that might look. She thrust them by her sides. 

“And Robb is actually the one who knows him well,” Ned mused. “Is that the right of it?”

Sansa nodded. 

“You’re lying,” Catelyn said brusquely. 

Sansa feigned shock and outrage. “Mother! Why would I do something like that?”

Catelyn folded her arms. “That’s what I would like to know. We’ve raised you not to lie, but I know subterfuge when it’s happening, Sansa, and I do not believe for a minute that you don’t know Mr. Clegane at all. I think you do. And quite well. You’re not an actress, Sansa. Just tell us the truth.”

Sansa sighed heavily. There was nothing for it. She had to come clean – about some of it at least, maybe not all. “Very well then, you’re right. I have met Mr. Clegane before. Several times. And it was all my doing. I wanted to meet him. I wanted to know why he was such a recluse.”

“Sansa!” Catelyn exclaimed. “Please tell me you did not go seeking that man out!”

“I did. I…I kept purposely going down to the pond so that I could chat with him.”

Ned’s eyes narrowed. “The pond _only_?”

“Of course!” Sansa said, hoping they bought that at least. 

Her parents exchanged looks. 

“He’s developed a _tendre_ for you,” Catelyn said bluntly. “I saw how he looked at you last night, Sansa. And I saw how you looked at him.”

“Mother—”

“Sansa, has he tried to take advantage you?” Ned asked. 

“No, of course not!” Sansa exclaimed. _I wanted him to touch me the way he did_ , she thought. 

They exchanged glances again and Sansa felt panic begin to seep in. “Mother, Father, I did lie to you about having met Sandor before, I admit to that. I have met him quite a few times, and I’m sorry I lied to you and kept it from here. He’s a recluse, or at least he has been, and he doesn’t like to go out into Society if he can avoid it because of the scars on his face and how harshly he had been judged. I – I do care for him and I do wish for him to court me—”

“No,” Catelyn said curtly. 

Tears welled up in Sansa’s eyes. “Pardon?”

“Sansa, he’s not who we would wish for you,” Ned said calmly. 

“Who do you wish for me then? Lord Theon? Lord Theon asked if he could kiss me during our first dance. Is he who you want for me?”

That seemed to shock them enough. They said nothing, but they did exchange yet another look. 

“Sandor,” Sansa began and too late she caught her mistake. 

Her parents looked murderous. 

“You call him by his given name?” Ned asked quietly. 

Sansa didn’t bother to answer. What was the point? She couldn’t very well lie her way out of this one. 

“He is dear to me,” Sansa said, tears welling up in her eyes. “He’s a good man. I know he’s a bit rough about the edges, but it’s only because he’s unused to being around people. He’s so kind and gentle once you come to know him.” She started to cry in earnest now, fearing the absolute worst. 

And it came. 

“You’ll not see him again, Sansa,” Catelyn spat. “Go to your room now. I’ll have Cook send dinner up to your room this evening. I think you need a rest and a good long think.”

“Mother, please,” Sansa began, intent on begging.

“Go, child,” Ned said softly. 

Pursing her lips together, Sansa made her way to the door as calmly and as dignified as she could, but once she was on the other side of it, she ran in a flurry up to her bedroom, tears streaming down her face. 

Not see Sandor again? Ever again? No, no. That was not to be borne. He was her other half. She loved him! And he loved her. She wouldn’t marry some lecherous Lord like Lord Theon. She’d marry Sandor or no one. 

Sansa sat down at her escritoire and gazed out her window. Did she write Sandor a letter and have one of the servants discreetly deliver it to him? 

Biting her lip, she began to think all right – think on a plan to get to Sandor and somehow ensure that she become his wife. 

xxxxxxx

Robb was the next one in the study. His parents didn’t so much as ask him questions as take him to task for covering for Sansa and for attempting to set his sister up with a lecher. 

Robb knew Theon had a bit of a rakish reputation, but he had never once thought the other man would dare attempt anything of the sort with Sansa. The next time Robb saw his friend, well….well, they just might not be friends anymore. 

It wasn’t until after everyone had retired for the night that Robb made his way to Sansa’s bedchamber. He’d been accused of plotting with Sansa, which he supposed he had, and so he knew that he should keep his distance lest their parents become suspicious. 

But he was worried about her, and he wanted to do what he could to help her. If there was anything he _could_ do at this point. He knew Sansa loved Sandor, and he knew that Sandor loved his sister. It was plain for the world to see how enamored the man was for his sister. 

Robb knew that their parents were only doing what they felt was right. Sansa was a Lady. If she was to marry Sandor, she would be marrying below her station. He’d never thought they cared so much about that sort of thing, having derisive things to say about Society and how it ran, but Robb also knew that what they saw when they looked at Sandor were his scars. And his gruffness. He was not _refined._

Scratching at her door, Robb waited for her to answer. She didn’t. Figuring she must have retired already, Robb made his way to his bedchamber before he woke the whole house. 

xxxxxxxxxx

Sandor jerked awake when he heard his butler calling his name rather urgently. He’d fallen asleep in front of the fire in the drawing room after having some brandy, and he’d been dreaming of tasting Sansa’s cunt. 

It was a dream he was loathe to be pulled from and so he was not very sorry when he barked at his butler to tell him what he wanted already. 

“Sir, Lady Sansa is _here_.” He sounded appalled. He looked appalled, too. 

Sandor nearly leapt from his chair in surprise. “Here? She’s here now?”

“ _Yes_ ,” his butler hissed. 

“Let her in! What are you waiting for?!” Sandor hollered. 

His butler sniffed and left the room. A second later, Sansa was running inside. Sandor rushed to her and caught her in his arms. “Little Bird, what are you doing here now? Do your parents know? What’s happened, love?”

She started to sob into his chest and Sandor felt his heart start to clench. “Sansa, tell what has you so upset,” he said a bit commandingly. 

She pulled back and looked up at him and told him his worst fear: her parents didn’t want him to marry her, and they were banning her from seeing him. 

“I snuck out because I had to see you before you heard from them why you couldn’t see me. I’m going to wear them down, Sandor,” she told him, wiping at her tears in a very unladylike manner with her hand. 

Sandor went to a nearby table and grabbed a handkerchief. He pulled Sansa with him to the settee and gently wiped at her tears with it. “Little Bird, calm yourself now, all right?”

“What are we going to do, Sandor?”

“You want to marry me?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Of course I do. I love you!”

He heaved a deep sigh. “Then what do you say we leave right now and elope to Gretna Green?”


	17. Chapter 17

Sansa’s tears stopped, and Sandor was pretty sure it was shock that had done it. “Elope?” She sounded bewildered. 

He nodded slowly, meeting her gaze and holding it. “If you want to marry me, Little Bird, I will gladly elope with you tonight. We can be married by dawn and your parents won’t be able to stop it. Stop us.”

She straightened, twisting the handkerchief in her hand. Her eyes shone like diamonds from her tears in the firelight. She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I haven’t anything else but what I’m wearing.”

“I’ll buy you a dress. I’ll get you anything you need, love.”

She looked at him searchingly. “You really mean it? We could elope? Tonight?”

Sandor smiled. “Do anything for you I would, Little Bird. If you think there’s another way – if you think your parents can be convinced of our…suitability – then I’ll wait it out.”

She frowned. “They won’t change their minds. My mother won’t budge. She has an iron will, that one.”

Sandor couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Been wondering where you got it from! Now I know.”

She shot him a look which only served to make him laugh harder. 

Finally, though, he settled, took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. “What do you say, Little Bird? Will you run off and marry me tonight?”

A smile blossomed on her face, albeit a shy one. “It would be most romantic, wouldn’t it, Sandor?”

“I don’t know about romantic—”

“It is,” she insisted. 

“There’s that iron will.”

She ignored him. “You’ll buy me a new dress? I don’t want to wear this to our wedding.”

“I’ll buy you a dozen dresses.”

Sansa stood, nodding. “Yes, let’s do it. Let’s go to Gretna Green and get married.” She started for the door before Sandor could stop her and he had to jump up and run to catch up with her. 

He grabbed her hand and spun her into his arms. “You won’t regret marrying me, Little Bird?”

“Of course not! I wish this could have happened under different circumstances. I’d have liked a proper wedding and wedding feast with my family and friends, but if my parents won’t see reason, and I really don’t that they will, then this is the only way.”

“We’ll have a proper wedding feast when we return. You can invite whomever you want.”

“They might not come since what we’re about to do is quite scandalous.”

Sandor cocked his head to the side as he gazed down at her. “Why do you look positively gleeful about that?”

She giggled. “Maybe I am a little. I am always so proper, it’s rather exhilarating to be planning our escape into marriage.”

“Not that proper,” Sandor said with a snort. “A proper lady wouldn’t have visited a bachelor on her own as you did.”

She bit her lip. “Oh dear. Yes, there is that.”

“Nor would she have let said bachelor kiss her and touch her the way he did.”

She giggled. “That is also true.”

Sandor leaned in and kissed her softly. “Not that I minded,” he murmured, drinking from her slowly. “Not one whit.”

She moaned, winding her arms around him – and then abruptly pushed away from him. “Sandor, we must go now if we wish to make it before dawn. We’ll have plenty of time to kiss later.”

“Just kiss?” Sandor said with a waggle of his brows. 

She blushed, pushing at him. “Behave.”

“Never,” he promised and kissed her quickly. “Now we shall prepare.”

xxxxxxxxx

An hour later and Sandor and Sansa were in his carriage, on their way to Gretna Green. They had a basket of cheese and bread and wine, hot bricks under their feet to keep them warm, and a thick blanket as well. Currently, Sansa was snuggled up against Sandor’s side and he held her close with one arm around her. 

“You’re sure about this now, Little Bird?” he asked softly. 

“Yes,” she said, sounding bit sleepy. She looked up at him. “Are you?”

He gazed down at her lovingly. “I never thought I’d have love,” he told her. “You gave me more than I could possibly ask for by loving me back, but now…now you’re about to give me everything. You’re agreeing to spend the rest of your life with me. I’ll wake up every day to your face, and fall asleep every night with your body pressed against mine. Am I sure? Sansa, you’ve given me the whole bloody world.”

She smiled, leaned up, and kissed him. “I love you,” she whispered. 

“Oh my love,” he breathed, “I love you, too.” And then he drew her up onto his lap, causing her to squeal softly. 

He smothered her laughter with kisses until she was clinging to him and moaning. 

When she felt him begin to pull her skirts up, she stayed his hand by gripping his arm and looking at him in alarm. “Sandor. What are you doing?”

He grinned. “I’m about to give you another little death, sweeting. Remember your first one?”

She blushed, nodding. 

“We have a long trip in front of us. How else do you wish to spend the time?”

“But--“

He cut off her protest with another deep kiss, and this time, his hand went further up her skirts until his hand was slipping past the slit in her pantalets. 

She was wet. He groaned. Sansa instinctively spread her legs further for his questing fingers and when he rubbed the nub he knew would bring her so much pleasure, she cried out and buried her face in his neck. “Oh, Sandor…”

“Feel good, Little Bird?” he asked roughly. 

She nodded, gripping his shoulders tight. 

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she breathed, her breath hot against his neck. 

Gently but firmly, Sandor continued to stroke her. “I can’t wait to make you mine in every sense of the word,” he muttered in her ear. “To claim you. Mark you as mine. Show you just how much I love you.”

“Sandor,” she whimpered. 

Slowly, Sandor sank one finger inside her. She stiffened and Sandor pressed kisses to her face. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head emphatically. 

“This is where my cock will go, Little Bird. When I fuck you. When I make you mine.”

He sawed his finger in and out of her for a bit and then put his thumb back on her nub and began to rub. 

“Sandor, it’s happening,” she gasped. 

“That’s my girl, my pretty girl,” he cooed. “Come for me, sweetness. Come on…”

She cried out then, her legs shaking and her body trembling from the force of her climax. Sandor gently stroked her for a bit more and then she twitched away and he removed his hand as he kissed Sansa’s now upturned face. Then he moved his head to lick his finger and she blushed, burying her face back in his neck. 

“Feel all right, Little Bird?”

“You’re so scandalous, Sandor,” she murmured. Then she lifted her head and looked at him with a smile. “I love it.”

He laughed with delight, and then helped Sansa back onto the seat, and helped her straighten her skirts. He drew the blanket back over their laps and pulled her into his side. She burrowed into him and yawned. “I find myself rather tired now,” she told him tiredly. 

“We have a ways to go yet, Little Bird. Get some rest.”

“Will you?”

“Aye. In time I will.”

Seeming satisfied with that answer, Sansa shut her eyes as she rested against him. It took a bit of time for Sandor to relax. He was still nervous about their being followed – if any one of the Starks discovered her missing… well, that would create some difficulty, now wouldn’t it?

And then he kept thinking about being a husband. He didn’t know how to be a husband. He gazed down at Sansa and smiled. Well, he figured she’d tell him when he did something wrong, perhaps reward him when he did something right, and they’d just figure out the rest together. Feeling confident now, Sandor was able to relax and follow his lady love into slumber.


End file.
